


The Space Between

by KouriArashi



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bad Parent Maryse Lightwood, Bigotry & Prejudice, Developing Relationship, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Clave is the Worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KouriArashi/pseuds/KouriArashi
Summary: Every warlock has a soulmate. 98% of the time it’s another warlock, but sometimes it’s a mundane, a seelie, or even a Shadowhunter. Until their name appears on the warlock’s chest (and their corresponding soulmate’s), there’s no way to know.Enter Alec Lightwood, who wakes up at fourteen with a warlock’s name on his chest. Horrified at what it means, he keeps it hidden. But five years later, Magnus Bane is captured by a team of Shadowhunters, and it’s only a matter of time before someone sees Alec’s name on his chest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody and welcome to my latest foray into "these two adorable bastards have taken over my life"!
> 
> Notes/warnings: Takes place in a semi-alternate-universe where The Circle is still around and their way of thinking has taken over the Clave in general, Morgenstern is a dick and has his own task force, et cetera.
> 
> I know that the show did a redemption arc for Maryse, but I'm gonna be honest with y'all: I'm totally ignoring that because I like her much better as a villain and I think Alec's repression and his need to prove himself are pretty much solely because she was a terrible parent. And what's the fun in fanfiction if we don't get to torture our darlings?
> 
> Basic warnings for bigotry, prejudice, real-world parallels to racial profiling and police brutality, Alec being very confused and conflicted, Magnus being amazing, and a general disregard for parts of canon. =D

 

When Magnus first sees the mark start to appear on his chest, he’s so surprised that he nearly jabs himself in the eye with his mascara. He drops the brush and cranes forward, squinting into the mirror, trying to see if it’s really happening or if it’s just a trick of the light. There’s a set of thin lines on his chest just over his heart, barely visible so far but darkening as he watches. Within a few hours, he knows, it’s going to spell out a name. The name of his soulmate, the person he’s meant to be with, the person he has waited literal centuries to meet.

Not even bothering to get dressed, he grabs his cell phone and snaps a picture. Then he sends it to Catarina. A few moments later, his phone rings and he answers it. “It’s happening!” Catarina bursts out, clearly just as excited as he is. “Magnus, it’s finally happening!”

She has good reason to be excited, just as Magnus is. Every warlock has a soulmate. The mark appears whenever the events are first set in motion that will lead to them meeting. Someone, somewhere, had just made a decision or carried out an action that was going to result in Magnus meeting his soulmate. It could be hours; it could be years. The average, from what Magnus knows, is several months, but it’s not uncommon for it to take longer.

He doesn’t want to wait. He’s already waited so long.

Most warlocks meet their soulmate sometime in their twenties or thirties. It’s rare for one to make it to their hundredth birthday without having received the mark. Magnus has just celebrated his _four hundredth_ birthday not long previous. He had tried to keep up hope, had known that sometimes it can take that long, but the waiting had worn on him. Catarina and Ragnor had always assured him that it meant that his soulmate was going to be _extra_ special, that the universe had to wait for someone who could really be his match, and that wouldn’t just be anybody. He had to be patient, everybody said.

Patience had never really been Magnus’ strong suit.

“I can’t read it yet,” he complains to Catarina.

She clearly has to stifle a laugh. “No, you won’t be able to for a few hours. Go find some way to distract yourself or you’ll just stare into the mirror the entire time.”

“Ah, you know me so well,” Magnus says, as he was planning to do just that.

“Go keep yourself busy,” Catarina says. “Ragnor and I will come over for lunch. Go to France and get some wine, and then go to Italy and get some food.”

“I suppose if you insist,” Magnus says, and she laughs again. He hangs up and finishes doing his makeup, then gets dressed. He has to resist the urge to peel aside his shirt and recheck the mark every thirty seconds, but manages to distract himself. He loves entertaining, always has, so selecting wine and getting food is a process that requires his full attention.

When everything is set up, he texts Catarina to ask when she expects to arrive. She says it will be about fifteen minutes and then adds, ‘Don’t look at the mark until we get there!’

‘Of course not,’ Magnus lies, before setting down the phone and heading back into his bedroom. He shrugs out of his jacket, unbuttons his shirt, and draws it aside. The markings aren’t completely solid yet, but they’re legible. Neat, compact script, reading ‘Alexander Lightwood’.

Alexander _Lightwood_.

Magnus drops into his chair, staring at himself in the mirror. Four hundred years. He’s waited four hundred years . . . for a _Shadowhunter_.

He’s still sitting there, watching the mark darken and solidify, when Ragnor and Catarina arrive. “Where are you?” Catarina calls out from the front hall, and pokes her head in his bedroom a moment later. “Ah, you looked at it!” she complains, laughing, not seeing the look on his face yet. When she does, she stops and says, “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Magnus can’t bring himself to explain, so he just swivels so he’s facing her, and Ragnor as he looms over her shoulder. Catarina’s eyes go a little wide, and Ragnor takes one look at the mark and goes, “Oh, hell.”

“It has to be a mistake,” Magnus says, despite knowing full well that it’s not. “I can’t – I _will not_ – have a Shadowhunter for a soulmate.”

Ragnor heads over and sits down on the edge of Magnus’ bed. “Well, you don’t _know_ that it’s a Shadowhunter,” he says, reasonably enough. “It could be a vampire or a werewolf. The fact that the last name is Lightwood could be coincidence.”

Magnus gives him a withering look. Ragnor’s not _entirely_ wrong, but still, the odds are infinitesimal. Ninety-eight percent of warlocks have a soulmate who is another warlock. The remaining two percent are typically fae of some sort, and although vampires and werewolves aren’t unheard of, they’re vanishingly rare. Of course, so are Nephilim soulmates, but even so. “Yes, I’m sure that the fact that my soulmate’s last name is not only a Shadowhunter last name but the last name of the Shadowhunter family in charge of oppressing the very city where I live is a _complete_ coincidence.”

Ragnor winces a little, and Catarina steps over and puts a hand on Magnus’ shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Magnus, I understand that you must have doubts, but . . . whoever Alexander Lightwood is, he’s _your_ soulmate. That means, by definition, that he’s perfect for you. Not perfect in general, but perfect for _you_. Yes, maybe he is a Shadowhunter. But if he’s your soulmate, he’s not like the others. That’s just . . . fact.”

After a moment, Magnus looks up at her, sees her patient smile, and feels a little of the dread knotting his stomach ease. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Well, I hope it _does_ make you feel better,” Catarina says, “but it’s not the reason why I’m saying it. This could be the beginning of something amazing, Magnus. So don’t write him off just because he’s a Shadowhunter. He’s going to be _your_ Shadowhunter. I already can’t wait to meet him.”

“All right,” Magnus says, taking a deep breath as he feels some equilibrium return to him. He buttons his shirt back up. “But if it’s a complete, unmitigated disaster, drinks are on you.”

“That’s fair,” Catarina says.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Unlike Magnus, Alec doesn’t react in shock when he sees the markings on his chest. More than anything, he’s confused. And a little itchy. He rubs at them, little spots and curved lines that look like he slept with the sheets bunched up and they left impressions on his chest. Then he pulls a shirt on and goes about his business. He’s fourteen years old; breakfast is more important to him at eight AM than anything else.

He doesn’t even see them that night, because he doesn’t undress until after he’s left the bathroom, and there are no mirrors in his bedroom. It’s not until the next morning, when the mark has completely solidified and elegant script reading ‘Magnus Bane’ stares out from his chest as if he had it tattooed there, does he see it and choke on his toothpaste.

There are only a few documented instances of Nephilim being the soulmate for a warlock. He can think of one that he’s heard of, where upon discovery the Shadowhunter was de-runed and exiled immediately. He pictures his parents’ reaction when this mark is seen, and cringes away from it.

His first, admittedly childish thought is that he has to find a way to remove it. He’s not going to be banished; he is not the soulmate to a – he gives an internal shudder – _Downworlder_. They’re not even human. They’re _less_ than human. How could one of them ever be someone he should associate with, let alone be a soulmate for?

He rubs at the mark experimentally, as if it might smear. It doesn’t. His mind pictures alternative solutions – cutting the skin off, burning it off – and he winces involuntarily. Still, what other options does he have? He’s _Alexander Lightwood_ , the oldest son of Robert and Maryse Lightwood, their heir, the presumptive next head of the New York City Institute. Whoever ‘Magnus Bane’ is, he’s the son of a demon. Alec wants nothing to do with him.

After a few moments, he realizes his delay in the bathroom is going to raise eyebrows. He hastily gets dressed and heads downstairs for breakfast. But he can’t keep his mind off of it. During his rune classes, his training exercises, his mind keeps going back to the mark. He tells his parents he’s not feeling well after dinner and retreats to his room.

Looking into the mirror, he takes out his stele and takes a deep breath. Rune application always hurts, but he’s gotten used to it over the years. He considers and decides on the awareness rune. That’s got a thick horizontal line that will easily cover the name, and it’s generic enough that nobody would think it’s odd if he has one.

But as soon as his stele touches the soulmate mark, the glow of the rune fades and what he’s drawn so far disappears. He scowls at it and tries again, but it has the same result.

“Damn it,” he mutters underneath his breath. If that won’t work, he’s going to be in for a much more painful solution.

A regular scar won’t work. It might warp and distort the name, but there will be no mistaking what it is. He’ll have to find a way to remove it entirely, and to be honest, his mind quails before the thought of cutting off a chunk of his skin only to confront the very real possibility that it might come right back.

“Hasn’t anyone studied this?” he mutters to himself.

After a restless night of sleep, he heads to the library after classes and checks out several books which might shed some light on the subject. He finds a chapter about one of the Shadowhunters who was banished after their mark was discovered, and her testimony to the Clave.

“Please believe me, there is no part of me that wanted this,” she said during her pleas for clemency. “I am loyal to the Clave. I tried everything to remove the mark and free myself from this curse, but nothing worked.”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. She was banished, and two hundred years later, Alec Lightwood reads her words and curses under his breath.

He paces back and forth all night, racking his mind for a solution, but none presents itself. The next day, his instructor reprimands him for his lack of focus. That, of course, makes its way back to his parents. Maryse draws him into the study for a private tongue-lashing, but notices quickly that he’s barely listening. “What is the _matter_ with you this week?”

“Mother, I – ” Alec nearly chokes on the words. He doesn’t know what to say, but he knows he has to tell her. What else can he do? She’s his mother. Surely she’ll know what to do. “I’m sorry, I – I have to tell you something, and you’re going to be angry, but please don’t be angry, it isn’t – ”

“Spit it out, Alec!” Maryse says, exasperated.

Hands trembling so hard that he can barely work the buttons, Alec undoes his shirt and draws it aside to reveal the mark. His gaze darts up to her uncertainly, and he sees her eyes widen. She grabs his shirt, hastily buttoning it closed. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, pulling away from him and then going to shut the curtains. When she turns back to face him, she’s regained her composure. “Does anybody else know about this?”

“No,” Alec says, shaking his head for emphasis. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“How long has it been there?”

“Three days.” Alec rubs a hand over the back of his head as he sees his mother’s mouth tighten. “God, Mom, I’m so sorry – I knew I should tell you but I – I don’t know what to do and I was – ” He cuts himself off before the word ‘scared’ can escape his lips.

“It’s fine, Alec.” Maryse reaches out and squeezes his upper arm. But she doesn’t look like it’s fine. “We just have to – figure out how to handle this. First things first. You can never tell _anyone_ about this. Not your sister, not your father, not anybody. Nobody can _ever_ know. Do you understand?”

Alec nods. “I understand.”

“Secondly, I need you to promise me that you won’t go looking for this . . . person.” Her jaw twitches a little as she forces the word out.

“No, of course not,” Alec says. “I don’t – I don’t want this, I don’t want anything to _do_ with this, I would never – ”

“Promise me, Alec,” Maryse says.

“I promise,” Alec says.

“Okay.” Maryse lets him go and paces around her room for a few moments. “Okay, Alec. So we just need to think about your . . . trajectory, that’s all. We’ll need to make some changes.”

“Nothing needs to change,” Alec says, despite knowing that she’ll never agree. “Mom, I love what I do, and I’m good at it. I can still be every bit the Shadowhunter that I was yesterday. I don’t want this to change anything.”

“All that’s well and good, Alec, but you are our firstborn, our heir,” Maryse says. “Things will be expected of you, like marriage, children – things that are simply impossible now.” She sees the look on his face and says, “How could you possibly produce an heir with a woman who could never be allowed to see your bare chest?”

“We could do that, that sort of thing in the dark,” Alec says, hearing how lame it is as he says it. Truth be told, he’d prefer that anyway. The idea of having sex with a woman is borderline repulsive to him; the possibility that he might get out of it is the _only_ good thing this mark will result in.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alec,” Maryse says, rolling her eyes. “No, it won’t do. We’ll have to find some sort of excuse for why you can’t marry. I don’t suppose the Silent Brothers would take you,” she adds, and Alec shudders. “You’re too old to join their ranks. Still, we have time to come up with an excuse. In the meantime, you can just focus on your career. Although it would be better to keep you as far away from any warlocks as possible. Perhaps we could fake an accident – some sort of debilitating injury – ”

“Mom, no,” Alec says. “Please, I can still do this. Maybe not the part where I get married and have kids, but please – please don’t take my future away from me over this.”

Maryse’s mouth purses and she says, “Hopefully it won’t be necessary, but we have to have contingency plans in place.”

Alec nods and resolves that none of those plans will ever be used. A few weeks go by, and they don’t talk about it. He doesn’t dare bring it up, and his mother doesn’t either. Then she takes him aside and mentions that she thinks he should take more academics next year in school, in case he winds up needing to take a noncombatant position. He agrees, but adds them to his schedule rather than using them to replace other things. It’s a lot of work, but he’s determined not to let her see him struggling. If he can make it through this year, maybe she’ll believe he can make it through anything.

That’s what he’s thinking until his parents surprise them at dinner one night by telling them that Maryse is pregnant. “Such a surprise!” Robert says, laughing. “The Angel must have willed it!”

Izzy is excited about the idea of a younger sibling, but Alec looks at his mother and catches her eyes. She stares him down. He breaks first, looking at his plate, thinking about how she’s replacing him, how she’s already given up on him.

Max is born later that year, and he’s adorable and Alec loves him with all his heart and soul. But his mother stops talking about ‘contingency plans’, stops asking him how he’s doing in his classes, stops taking an interest in how his training is going. When he mentions the possibility of taking a parabatai, she pulls him aside and tells him quietly that she forbids it. He doesn’t bring it up again.

Instead, he throws himself into training full force. He focuses on his archery. That’s something no one else in his family has. As long as he’s doing well, his mother seems to try to forget he exists.

She has other things to focus on. As Izzy gets older, she’s becoming more and more rebellious. She asks too many questions and kicks up a fuss at the way things are done. Shortly before her fourteenth birthday, Maryse and Robert arrange for her to be taken in by the Iron Sisters. They insist that it’s an honor to be chosen, and nobody outside the family realizes that they’re sending her away before she can embarrass them.

Alec is sixteen and the only person he’s ever been able to talk to is gone. He says his farewells stoically. It’s brief, because Maryse doesn’t want to give Izzy a chance to argue and arranges everything on very short notice. But once she’s gone, Alec curls up in bed and cries harder than he’s ever cried before.

Beyond just losing his sister, it’s a clear message: behave, or his parents will do the same to him, or worse. Maryse might not want anyone to know that Alec has a warlock soulmate, but if she thinks revealing it herself and framing Alec as a traitor will help her, he suspects that she would do it.

At seventeen, he enters his field training. It’s hard work, but he’s grateful for it. He works himself to the bone every day, and that helps him sleep once night falls. He graduates with honors and moves into the barracks at the New York Institute. Before long, he has a reputation as a humorless killjoy, someone who refuses to joke around with the others or interact socially. That’s fine by him. He’s not here to make friends, and he doesn’t want people asking questions about why he refuses to change clothes in front of the others, or when he’s going to find a girlfriend.

His first mission involves a pair of Eidolon demons who have been killing people in downtown Manhattan. He’s paired up with an older Shadowhunter named Starkweather, who seems to be a relatively decent guy. He kills his first demon that night, and feels a well of pride he hadn’t expected. He can do this. He’s _good_ at this. He can still make his family proud even with a warlock’s name tattooed on his chest.

“Hey, check it out,” Starkweather says, gesturing to a pair of warlocks heading into the alley they just left, easily distinguishable by the green skin on one and pair of horns on the other. “Let’s take ‘em in.”

Alec blinks at him. “What? Why?”

Starkweather glances at him. “This is your first rodeo, huh? Okay. So there are some unofficial rules for field agents you need to know about, and this is one of them. You see a Downworlder, you bring them in.”

“What for?” Alec asks, more puzzled than anything else.

“In case they know anything about demonic activity in the area,” Starkweather says with a shrug. “You know, we bring them in to ask them some questions. Sometimes we can use the warlocks as bait for their demonic fathers.”

Alec thinks about this, thinks about the question he’s fairly sure he doesn’t want the answer to but feels he has to ask. “What happens to them afterwards?”

“We let them go, of course,” Starkweather says. The pulse of relief that goes through Alec is dashed a moment later when Starkweather chuckles and adds, “Whatever’s left of them after they get questioned, anyway.”

Alec opens his mouth, then closes it. He thinks very carefully about all his options. This is his first mission. It’s possibly Starkweather is just making this up – but given the general attitude about Downworlders, he doubts it. He settles for asking, “Does this ever gain us actionable intelligence?”

“Sure,” Starkweather says, his tone far too casual for Alec’s liking. “It must, right? Otherwise, why would the higher-ups have us do it? Come on, they’re getting too far away. Let’s move.”

There’s clearly nothing more Alec can say, so he goes along with it. One of the warlocks gets away, but they bring the other in. Starkweather instructs him on the protocol. Any prisoners are signed in at a certain desk. All warlocks brought in are strip-searched, because they have a tendency to have hidden weapons. There are restraining bracelets that keep them from using their magic. Once they’ve taken care of that, they’re left in a cell to wait for the interrogation.

“Come on,” Starkweather says. “Let’s hit the commissary.”

Alec doesn’t really want to, because it’s late and he’s got a million thoughts whirling around in his head, but Starkweather doesn’t take no for an answer. He’s surprised when he gets there and finds a bunch of others waiting for him. They break out into cheers when he enters, and someone presses a beer into his hands. “First kill, right?” a man named Blackwell asks. “Everyone gets a drink for that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Alec says. He’d been so wrapped up in what had happened afterwards that he had forgotten about this tradition. He had killed his first demon; there’s a celebration. He quaffs the beer in two swallows, and there’s more cheering. People slap him on the back and congratulate him, and for the first time in years, he feels like he’s a part of something.

Alec can’t sleep that night, tossing and turning in his bed. He feels like the name on his chest is burning into his skin.

A few days later, he gets his next mission. It’s been long enough that he feels like asking won’t be suspicious, so he says to Starkweather, “So whatever happened to that warlock? Did he know anything?”

Starkweather just shrugs and says, “Not my department.”

He lets it go at that. What can he say? He’s not the one who makes these decisions. Starkweather is right; if they’ve been told to bring in warlocks, there must be a reason. Someone higher up in the ranks has done the math and determined that whatever intelligence they gain must outweigh the dishonor in targeting an entire group of people, some of whom might be innocent. And even if that’s not true, what good would speaking out do? He’d be ridiculed, thrown out of the ranks. Then he wouldn’t be able to help anybody.

And there’s always, always that little voice in his head wondering about the soulmate magic. Wondering what kind of person Magnus Bane is, why fate would choose _him_ to be mated to a warlock. Wondering if warlocks are different from how he’s always pictured them. How could he possibly be one’s soulmate if they’re really as awful as all the Shadowhunters say? And if they’re _not_ all awful, why do the Shadowhunters target them as if they are?

It had been one thing to ignore that little voice at the Academy, and even during field training. After all, warlocks aren’t their priority. They’re demon hunters. Sure, they’ll occasionally go after a warlock. Downworlders, they’re told, will always eventually give in to their darker impulses. When that happens, the Shadowhunters have to make them answer for it.

But once he stops and thinks about it, the math doesn’t add up. There are thousands, tens of thousands, of warlocks. The Shadowhunters don’t have the manpower to police them. If they really _always_ gave in to their demonic nature, then they would run roughshod over the entire world.

Unless, he reasons, they single out a few, every now and then, and make examples of them. Rule through intimidation, through oppression. But that layers more moral questions on top of everything, and it _still_ doesn’t explain how he could possibly be a soulmate for one of them.

He doesn’t want to meet Magnus Bane, because he knows that it’s going to ruin his life, but at the same time, he’s desperately curious about him. Is he different from other warlocks? Is there some reason his soulmate would be a Nephilim? Or is it the other way around? If Magnus Bane is everything Alec has been taught a warlock is, what does that mean about Alec? What sort of person is he really, deep down? He had always thought he was someone who would fight injustice and protect innocents. Yet here he is, looking the other way while warlocks are targeted for no reason. Maybe he and his soulmate are equally horrible people. Maybe he deserves this.

It’s times like this that he wishes Izzy was still around, that he could talk to her. Even if she didn’t have the answers, she would be able to say something that would help. But she isn’t. She’s gone, and if he doesn’t toe the line, he’ll meet a fate just as bad or worse.

Then his brain supplies the idea that maybe he needs to be exiled before he can even meet Magnus, and he groans and pulls the blankets over his face. What if he’s just fighting the inevitable?

“It’s not fair,” he says to his ceiling, and he can practically hear his mother snap in return, ‘Life isn’t fair, Alec.’ He sighs and tries to banish the thoughts.

It’s been five years since the mark appeared on his chest, and he wakes up every day with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, the fear that this will be the day. He simultaneously wants to get it over with and hopes that it never happens. How long can it take?

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He wants nothing to do with Magnus Bane. Whether he meets him tomorrow or in ten years, he’ll just pretend he doesn’t exist. Meeting him won’t change anything.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	2. Chapter 2

 

Despite his misgivings, Alec finds himself getting into the swing of things. He likes the routine. He’s up early, spends an hour working out, and then settles down with the open cases. He enjoys working actual cases, and they’re quite different from the test cases done at the Academy. Those had always been so obvious, even if they were trick questions.

When he’s done any analysis work that needs to be done, it’s time for weapons training. Archery is a skill that needs constant tending, and he has to keep up on his skills with a blade as well. After that, there’s generally a mission briefing and then the mission itself. The time of the mission can range anywhere between midday and dawn, depending on what kind of demon they’re hunting and what its patterns are.

It’s more of a relief than he wants to admit that he doesn’t encounter another warlock. The huge problem he had envisioned turns out to be a minor thing. He’s able to put it out of his mind and not worry about it, telling himself that maybe it’ll never even come up again.

He goes on missions with a variety of other Shadowhunters, and gets to know them. Lydia is brisk and professional. Raj is a dick, but at least he can be a funny dick. Pangborn is a pompous ass. Blackwell is a vindictive jerk. He doesn’t really like any of them, wouldn’t spend time with any of them voluntarily.

Then there’s Valentine Morgenstern, who he meets on a few occasions, enough to admit that he’d rather the man stay on the other side of the country at all times. Morgenstern was from an old, powerful family, far more so than the Lightwoods. He could have had his own Institute, but instead he’s in charge of the ‘Downworlder Containment Program’. As far as Alec can tell, Morgenstern is the one who instituted the policy of bringing in any Downworlder they happen across in a mission. He’s in charge of their interrogations, and travels to different Institutes whenever one is captured. He’s also the man who puts together any raids if they get a tip on where a Downworlder is living – something that comes as a nasty shock to Alec when he finds out about it.

Since Morgenstern doesn’t actually reside at the New York Institute, Alec only sees him occasionally. That’s fine by him, because Morgenstern makes him deeply uncomfortable. He’s well aware that one word from Morgenstern would ruin his entire life. The idea that one of the others might report a comment he’s made about warlocks back to Morgenstern terrifies him.

So he isolates himself further. Takes his work to the library instead of doing it on the floor with the others. Goes straight to his room after missions instead of hanging out at the commissary like the others do. He sits alone in the mess hall and nobody ever tries to sit with him.

He half-expects his mother to come lecture him on this – networking is a huge part of what any Institute Head needs to do – but she doesn’t. Of course, he figures, she probably doesn’t care. She’s probably happier if Alec never talks to anybody, if he quietly resigns himself to his fate of being a nobody.

After about six weeks, he gets a mission with Pangborn. It’s a bust – the demon is long gone by the time they get there – and that clearly annoys the shit out of Pangborn. He insists that they explore the entire neighborhood just to make sure there’s no sign of the thing. Alec goes along with this without complaint, but he has a feeling that this isn’t going to end well.

He’s one hundred percent right. Fifteen minutes later, they spot a warlock, hurrying through a side alley. Pangborn’s eyes light up, and Alec hastily says, “Hang on. Let’s follow him. Maybe he’ll lead us back to the lair.”

“We might lose him that way,” Pangborn says, although he’s obviously tempted.

“If it looks like he’s seen us, we can take him,” Alec says. “We’ve both got distance weapons.”

Strategically, it’s a terrible idea. But it plays to Pangborn’s blood lust and desire to make himself look good, with the side benefit of making it look like Alec shares both those qualities with him. They stalk the warlock through a set of alleys until he enters an apartment building through a side door. “Score,” Pangborn says, drawing an unlock rune on the door and letting them in. The elevator is whirring, and it shows them that it stops on the fourth floor. “Let’s take the stairs.”

“Okay,” Alec says, trying to find a way out of this mess he’s gotten them into. He can only hope that the warlocks figure out they’re there and make a run for it.

The door at the top of the stairs isn’t locked, but it’s got the electric crackle of wards to it. Pangborn takes his stele out again, and after a few moments, manages to break through them.

That’s enough to alert the warlocks inside that they’re coming. When Pangborn charges into the room with a reluctant Alec behind him, there’s a warlock holding a portal open while a dozen warlocks duck through it. Pangborn draws his arm back and releases his bolas. It wraps around the warlock’s ankles and sends him stumbling. The portal snaps shut just after the last of the other warlocks has darted through.

Alec keeps his bow trained on the warlock and shouts, “Don’t move!” as Pangborn jogs across the room to drag him to his feet. Alec swallows hard as he sees the warlock in question, takes in his dark eyes and beautiful black hair with red streaks in it, matching the shirt he’s wearing, his lean, lithe body, his – Alec wrenches his brain off the topic of how stunningly attractive a man they’ve just captured. It’s more than a little irrelevant.

Pangborn snaps those magic-restraining bracelets on the man, who stares just over his shoulder with his jaw set in a stubborn expression. (His beautiful jaw, with just the right amount of stubble, Alec’s brain helpfully points out.) “Let’s roll,” Pangborn says, once he has the warlock secured. Alec looks at him but then looks away, his gaze flicking to the side as if looking at the man too long will result in corneal burns.

It takes about twenty minutes to get back to the Institute. Twenty uncomfortable minutes, while Pangborn brags about how awesome he was with his bolas and gives Alec absolutely no credit for anything. Alec knows he should be annoyed by that, but frankly he’d rather not be associated with this incident, so he says nothing. Let Pangborn hog all the glory. That’s just fine by him. The warlock says nothing, staring straight ahead and pretending they’re not there, which is equally fine by Alec.

“All right, check him for any hidden surprises, rookie,” Pangborn says with a sneer, as he shoves the warlock into a cell. “You know the drill. I’m gonna run and grab a coffee.”

Alec does know the drill, and he knows that the drill calls for Pangborn to actually help with this instead of ditching him. But there’s no point in calling him on it. He also notes that Pangborn doesn’t offer the casual ‘do you want anything at the commissary’ the way most courteous people would. He just rolls his eyes as he shuts the door behind him.

“Okay, uh, get undressed,” he says to the warlock, and tries not to look at him. He’s not sure he can handle the sight of this gorgeous man naked, but he’s going to have to try.

“Well, normally I wouldn’t hesitate when I get a request like that from a man who looks like you,” the warlock says, and God, even his _voice_ is delicious, “but this doesn’t really seem to be the time or place.”

Alec feels his cheeks flush pink. “I have to search you. Take off your clothes.”

The warlock folds his arms over his chest, looks Alec right in the eye, and says, “Make me, pretty boy.”

Alec grits his teeth and resolves that this warlock isn’t going to see him flinch. “Fine,” he says, stepping closer. He takes one arm of the jacket the warlock is wearing and tugs it off of him. The warlock allows this, although he doesn’t help him in the slightest. Then Alec has to unbutton the vest _and_ undo the ascot, while he vaguely wonders exactly how many layers this man is wearing. Finally, he gets to the shirt, and he hopes he’s not blushing as much as he feels like he is as he starts undoing the buttons. He sees a few letters, dark impressions on the warlock’s skin, and unthinkingly pushes the fabric aside to read them. His hands freeze as he sees his own name, in his own script, neatly printed on the man’s chest. On _Magnus Bane’s_ chest.

“Ah,” Magnus says, his voice still light and amused, “you’ve discovered my secret mark of shame. Thoughts, opinions?”

“I . . .” Alec’s mouth works soundlessly for a few moments while his brain spins in circles. Any moment now, Pangborn is going to come back. The instant he sees Alec’s name on Magnus’ skin, Alec’s life will be over. Everything he’s worked for, everything he’s fought for, all gone in the blink of an eye. Every plan he’s ever made for this moment has flown right out the window. Despite how much he’s mentally prepared, he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

There must be _something_ he can do, some part of his brain reasons. But there isn’t. Even if he could stall Pangborn somehow, there’s no way to keep other Shadowhunters away from Magnus long-term. Someone would see it eventually. There’s no way to hide the mark without letting Magnus have his magic, and if he does that, Magnus has no reason to stick around.

Of course, he doesn’t want Magnus to stick around, so that would solve the problem, but it would also create another one. Letting a warlock escape would create an enormous black mark on his record. It would set him back years. But it would still be better than people finding out about his soulmate.

Decision made, he fumbles for his stele. Magnus has gone still, sensing that something’s wrong but unsure of what. “If I – ” Alec grabs one of Magnus’ wrist and draws the unlock rune on one of the bracelets. “If I take these off, you can get out of here, right? Just portal out?”

“Yes . . .” Magnus says, now suspicious.

“Okay.” Alec undoes the other bracelet. “I need you to, to hit me. As hard as you can. And then get the hell out of here.”

Magnus frowns, studying him while he quickly peers into the hallway to make sure Pangborn isn’t about to surprise them. “Why?”

“Why are you asking that?” Alec asks, frustrated. “I’m giving you the chance to escape, now take it!”

“You – ” Magnus’ eyes widen slightly, and before Alec can react, one hand darts out and grabs the collar of Alec’s shirt. Alec pulls back, but not before Magnus tugs the fabric down far enough to reveal the name on Alec’s chest. “It’s you.”

Alec yanks free and glances into the hallway again. “Get out of here!” he hisses, as forcefully as he dares. He’s prepared to say it again, but doesn’t have to. The blow from Magnus is so sudden that it knocks him backwards and onto his ass. His face screams in pain and he curls up involuntarily, seeing stars. By the time he manages to look around, Magnus is gone. He relaxes infinitesimally, then feigns unconsciousness.

After a somewhat absurdly long time, Pangborn finally makes a reappearance. He kneels next to Alec, shaking him and demanding, “Hey, what the hell happened?”

“The fu?” Alec mumbles, pretending to wake up slowly.

“Where’d the fucking warlock go?” Pangborn asks.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Alec says, sitting up. A few minutes later, he’s helping search. The bracelets are gone, so they don’t know that Magnus has his magic, that he could have made a portal. Alec hadn’t thought to tell Magnus to take them, but he clearly had. He’s momentarily impressed. He should have thought of that – they couldn’t have been removed without the help of a Shadowhunter, so Magnus taking them spared him some very awkward questions.

Of course, the ones he gets are awkward enough. Once an hour has passed and it’s clear that they won’t be finding Magnus any time soon, Alec and Pangborn are both called into Morgenstern’s office. “So, who wants to tell me what happened here?” he asks, in his usual voice, the jovial one that masks the sadist underneath.

“Lightwood let a warlock escape,” Pangborn immediately says.

Alec has thought about how to handle this while he was ‘searching’ for Magnus. It’s tempting to try to throw Pangborn under the bus, since he broke protocol by leaving while Alec was dealing with the prisoner. It’s also tempting to point out that saying he ‘let’ the warlock escape is incompatible with the enormous bruise on one side of his face. But he’s decided against both of those things. When Morgenstern looks at him, he simply says, “No excuses, sir. He took me off guard. I accept complete responsibility.”

Morgenstern studies him for a moment, nodding slowly. “He gave you quite the shiner.”

“Yes, sir,” Alec says.

“Any idea how he got out of the complex?”

“No, sir,” Alec says.

Pangborn adds, “We don’t even know for sure that he did. Nobody saw him go. We’re still running searches inside. If he’s still here, we’ll find him.”

“Mm hm.” Morgenstern ponders this for a moment, then nods and says, “Pangborn, you’re dismissed. Lightwood, stay behind.”

Pangborn smirks at Alec as he leaves the room. Alec continues to stand at attention as Pangborn closes the door behind him.

“Did the warlock say anything to you before he hit you?” Morgenstern asks.

“No, sir,” Alec says, then amends, “Well, he made an obscene comment or two, but nothing worthwhile.”

“And you didn’t see him go?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay.” Morgenstern sets down a stack of papers, then asks, “Where was Pangborn during all this?”

Alec clears his throat. “He went to the commissary. Told me to take care of it.”

“That’s a breach of protocol.”

“I know, sir, but Pangborn is my superior. I couldn’t disobey a direct order.”

“Mm hm.” Morgenstern eyes him pensively. “Of course, the entire reason that we search and disarm warlocks in pairs is because of this sort of occurrence. They’re clever bastards, you know. Comes with the age. We lost a lot more warlocks – and several Shadowhunters – before we instituted that rule.”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Okay.” Morgenstern looks amused. “You didn’t mention Pangborn’s absence when you took full responsibility.”

“He’s my superior. If he thought I was trying to shift blame to him, he could make my life very difficult.”

“That he could.” Morgenstern nods. “It was a smart decision, Lightwood. Nobody likes a snitch, even if you would have had every right to complain about his conduct. I’m going to give you two weeks back in basic and then two more on patrol duty. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I think you could go far.”

“Thank you, sir,” Alec says, breathing for the first time in what feels like hours. It’s not exactly a punishment to sneeze at, but the assurance that it won’t derail his entire career is worth every second of it.

With one hurdle cleared, he gets his things and heads back to his room. Not surprisingly, Maryse is waiting for him, pacing around his quarters. “You let a warlock escape?” she snaps, as soon as he’s gotten the door shut behind him.

Alec glances around just on the off chance someone else is there. He doesn’t want to try to use the same excuse with Maryse that he did with Valentine. She’d lecture him for hours on what a black mark he’s put on his record and how he’s brought shame to their family. In this case, the truth will be better. He lowers his voice and says, “Mom, I had to. It . . . it was him.”

Maryse blinks. “Him?”

Alec briefly touches his chest, where the mark lies hidden underneath his shirt, and repeats, “Him.”

Maryse’s mouth thins and she says, “Tell me what happened. Start at the beginning.”

Alec does so, starting with Magnus’ capture, Pangborn’s departure, and his first glimpse of the mark on Magnus’ chest. “And I don’t know if letting him escape was incredibly stupid or not, but if Pangborn, if _anyone_ , had seen that – I guess I might have panicked. Letting him escape was the only thing I could think of, the only way to make sure nobody found out.”

“No, you were right,” Maryse says, letting out a breath. “Obviously the result isn’t – optimal, but – far better to be blamed for letting a warlock escape than to have anyone find out about your little – problem.”

“I actually turned it around a bit,” Alec says, hoping this will mollify her. “I didn’t mention Pangborn ditching me, and Morgenstern said that it was a smart thing to do. Said he’d be watching me.”

“Did he?” Maryse looks a little surprised, but then adds, “Good. That’s good, Alec.” She stands up and says, “I’ll let you get to your evening duties, then.”

“Okay,” Alec says. He breathes a huge sigh of relief once she’s gone, and lets himself sag down onto his bed. It was far too long a day, and it’s not even over yet. After a few minutes to collect himself, he heads downstairs to the cafeteria to get some dinner. Some of the men give him a good-natured ribbing over his screw-up, and he puts up with it as well as he can.

The next day is a long one. It’s not that he can’t handle basic, but it’s been a while since he’s been there, so he’s not used to it. He has to be up before dawn, and spends most of the day doing push-ups or running obstacle courses. In basic, they aren’t allowed to used their runes, so the strength and stamina has to be entirely his own. By the time he’s done, he aches from head to toe, and he’s exhausted. He can barely climb the stairs to get back to his room. He has to admit a small groan escapes him when he finally gets the door shut and can strip off his T-shirt and jeans before falling face-first onto his bed.

A few minutes pass in silence. He hears an odd noise, sort of a combination of a rush of fresh air and a thump, but doesn’t pay it any mind. Then an unfamiliar voice says, “You look like hell.”

“Fuck!” Alec bolts upright, grabbing his pillow to hold it over his chest. He sees a moment later that it’s not necessary, that the person standing in his bedroom is one of the few people who already know about the mark. “Jesus, what are you doing here?” he demands of Magnus. “How did you _get_ here?”

“Once a warlock has met their soulmate, they can portal to them, even if it’s somewhere they’ve never been before,” Magnus says, looking amused. “As for what I’m doing here, well, we didn’t get much of a chance to talk yesterday.”

“You think?” Alec asks, rubbing a hand over his face. “If anyone sees you here – ”

Magnus sends a flick of bluish magic towards the door. It races up the walls and makes them glow for a second before fading. “They won’t. And they can’t hear us, either.”

“Oh, that’s a huge comfort,” Alec says. “Anyway, there’s nothing to talk about.”

Magnus arches an eyebrow. “You’re my soulmate, Alexander. There’s a great deal to talk about.”

“No, there is _nothing_ to talk about,” Alec insists. “I want nothing to do with, with this, with you. I never asked for this!”

“You saved my life yesterday,” Magnus points out.

“I didn’t do that for you! I did it because if anyone saw my name on your skin, it would ruin everything I’ve spent the last ten years working towards! Just get out of here!”

“Do you know what being a soulmate even means?” Not only is Magnus not leaving, he sits down in Alec’s desk chair and conjures up two glasses and a decanter filled with amber liquid, making himself comfortable. Alec can only stare at him. “I ask because you seem unclear on the concept.”

Alec growls out some profanity underneath his breath, and decidedly refuses to go over and accept the glass that Magnus holds out to him. “Yeah, we’re fated to be together. Sure. I don’t see why fate gets a say in what I do with my life.”

“That’s not exactly it, though,” Magnus says. He sips his drink, undeterred by Alec’s refusal. “It means that you and I are connected. That we fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. Complement each other. We’re capable of greater things together than we are separately.”

“None of that changes my mind,” Alec retorts.

“Most warlocks meet their soulmates when they’re relatively young,” Magnus continues. “In their twenties or thirties. Sometimes it takes longer, but it’s rare for a warlock to reach their hundredth birthday without having met their soulmate. The record – or the known record, at least – is a warlock who was four hundred and thirty-five. I almost broke that record.”

Alec’s taken off guard. “Does that mean you’re . . . four hundred years old?”

“Four hundred and twelve,” Magnus says, stirring his drink with his pinky. “I’ve waited four hundred and twelve _years_ to meet the person I was meant to be with. When I woke up that morning and saw your name, I thought finally, _finally_. But it wasn’t a warlock name. It was a Shadowhunter. It was . . . upsetting, at first. All those years waiting, and for what? A _Shadowhunter_.” Magnus gives a shudder that looks only partly feigned. “But then I was reminded that if this person is my soulmate, that means they’re perfect for me. So it means that you aren’t like the other Shadowhunters.”

“Maybe it means that you aren’t like other warlocks,” Alec says, feeling wary of the direction that this conversation is going.

“Oh, but I am,” Magnus says. “I’ve known hundreds, possibly thousands. They’re honestly not too different from me. In the little things, sure. Catarina detests white wine and Ragnor can’t operate technology if his life depends on it. But in heart, in soul – I’m really not unusual for my kind. And trust me – if you are in any way going to complement me, you must not be very much like your peers.”

Alec finally sits down, and he’s silent for a long moment. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Magnus shrugs. “There’s no script you have to follow. May I see it? The mark? I didn’t get a good look yesterday.”

“I guess.” Alec lowers the pillow, feeling inexplicably naked. Magnus reaches out and runs his fingers across it, and Alec immediately forgets how to speak. Goosebumps rise on his arms. Magnus’ touch feels unimaginably good.

“You’re in pain,” Magnus says.

“Just a little sore after a long day, that’s all,” Alec says. He feels warmth in his chest and looks down to see Magnus’ fingers glowing with magic. It seeps into his body, easing the worst of the tightness in his muscles and soothing the pain. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome,” Magnus says, sounding a little amused. “So nobody knows?”

“What?” Alec asks, still distracted by thinking about Magnus’ hand on his chest.

“About the mark,” Magnus says. “You said if anybody saw your name on my skin . . .”

“Oh. That.” Alec rubs a hand over the back of his head. “I told my mother about it, back when it first appeared, but nobody else knows. I had to hide it. It’s happened before, you know. Any Shadowhunter with a warlock mark gets deruned and exiled. I wasn’t about to let that happen to me.”

“I suppose asking ‘why not’ would just get me a blank stare?” Magnus says, and Alec does, indeed, stare at him. “Fair enough. They are your people, after all.”

“Look, I.” Alec has to stop and take a breath. “I’m sorry that I’m not – what you wanted. That you waited a long time and this is what you get. But I can’t do this, Magnus. There are – I don’t – it’s complicated, okay? It’s not you, I’m sure you’re a good – warlock, or whatever. If there is such a thing as a good warlock. But there’s no way on earth that I can be with you the way you, you seem to want me to. So just – do us both a favor and don’t make it – a problem.”

Magnus sips his drink, studying him for a long moment. “Are you happy, Alexander?”

“Am I – what?” Alec stammers, honestly flummoxed by the question.

“Are you happy? Is this the life you’ve dreamed of, the one that will bring you peace and joy? Is there nothing you feel like your life is missing?”

Alec flushes pink. “That’s none of your business.”

Magnus finishes his drink and stands up. “I’ll go, for today. But I’ll do us both a favor and not give up on you.” He vanishes the two glasses and the decanter with a little flick of his wrist. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Alec just stands there while the portal appears and Magnus goes through it. He stands there for what feels like a long time, before he flops back onto the bed and pulls the blankets over his face, vowing to forget that this day ever happened.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

 

“So?” Catarina asks, pouring herself a glass of wine and sinking down onto her chaise lounge. “What’s he like?”

“He’s . . . very young,” Magnus says, a little smile tugging at his lips. It fades a moment later as he thinks about some of the other things that Alec has said. “He’s confused, and conflicted, and at the moment he wants nothing to do with me – or at least that’s what he’s telling himself.”

Catarina nods a little and sips her wine. “Well, that makes sense.”

“It is an interesting view into the Shadowhunter mindset,” Magnus agrees. “I’m sure that he’s been heavily indoctrinated against our kind.” He lets out a breath and adds, “I’ll have to be patient with him.”

“Oh, Lord,” Ragnor says. “You’re one of the most impatient people I know.”

“No arguments from here,” Magnus says. “It’s amazing I haven’t already kidnapped him and hauled him back here, to be honest. I’ve been thinking about how I can possibly deal with this and I have to admit that I’ve got nothing. How do I build a relationship with someone who doesn’t even want to talk to me?”

“There’s a part of him that does,” Catarina says.

“I’m sure. But he also seemed quite paranoid about the possibility that we might be overheard, and I’m not sure I blame him.”

“Why don’t you write to him?” Catarina suggests. “You can visit his place – I assume it’s private, since you were able to talk to him earlier? – and leave him a letter. Maybe he’ll write back, maybe he won’t. But at least it would be a place to start.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Magnus says. He takes a drink of his own wine and then adds, “Oh, and he’s also _gorgeous_ , by the way. His eyes . . . his mouth . . . his arms, dear Lord. I shouldn’t be thinking about this if I’m going to try to be patient.”

Ragnor gives a snort of laughter. “Yes, control yourself, please. By the way, when you said ‘young’ . . .”

“Not _that_ young,” Magnus retorts, offended. “I’d guess twenty years old or thereabouts. I don’t think he’s been in the field long, just from his behavior. Although it’s not like I’ve interviewed a lot of Nephilim field agents, so I could be wrong about that. He’s miserable about something but to be honest I’m not sure what yet.”

“It can’t have been easy, growing up with that mark on his chest,” Catarina says. “He would have only been a teenager when it appeared.”

Magnus nods. “I did ask him about that. He said that he only told his mother, that nobody else knows.”

Catarina’s eyebrows rise. “Given what we know of Maryse Lightwood, I’m a little surprised she didn’t have him banished outright.”

“No, I think it makes sense that she would try to hide it,” Magnus says. “Not out of love for her son, but she doesn’t want the stain of it to be associated with their family name. She’ll hide it if at all possible.”

“I suppose you’re probably right,” Catarina says. “But you’ll have to be careful with him. He undoubtedly feels he owes her for not exposing him.”

Magnus grimaces. “I think I’ll start with trying to find out exactly what he believes about warlocks before I start trying to tackle his family trauma.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ragnor says.

An hour later, Magnus is digging through his things before coming to the conclusion that he doesn’t have what he needs. He makes a quick trip to his favorite bookstore, buying a journal full of blank pages. A bit of quick magic and it’s ready to go.

His pen hovers over the book for a long moment, pondering, before he starts to write. ‘Dearest Alexander. I’ve enspelled this book and pen so that no one will be able to read what is written except for the two of us. To anyone else, it will be blank, like a journal you haven’t started writing in. I thought this would be a way the two of us could get to know each other without the risk of someone hearing me in your rooms.’ He twirls the pen a few times. ‘I’m sorry if I came on too strong the other day. It’s just that I was very excited to meet you, after such a long wait. I’m sure you have questions. You can ask me anything you want about myself, or warlocks and soulmates in general. I hope to hear from you soon.’

He re-reads it, decides that it’s adequate, and portals into Alec’s room. It’s empty, as he had figured it would be during the day. He leaves the journal and the pen on the small desk and leaves.

It’s a very long twenty-four hours, waiting for the next day so he can go see what, if anything, Alec has written in response. He’s unsurprised to see that the response, in Alec’s neat handwriting, is simply, ‘Leave me alone.’

Undeterred, Magnus writes a single word. ‘Shan’t.’ Then he draws a smiley face next to it, closes the book, and leaves.

The next day, he comes back with a present. Alec hasn’t written anything else in the journal, so Magnus flips to a new page. ‘I noticed you like to read, so I brought you a few of my favorite books,’ he writes. ‘I hope you enjoy them. Perhaps it will give us something to talk about.’ He leaves the stack of books next to the journal.

Alec doesn’t write anything in reply the next day, or the next, but Magnus notices on the third day that one of the books is on his nightstand with a bookmark in it. He notes with pleasure that his soulmate doesn’t dog-ear the pages – an instant dealbreaker in Magnus’ opinion – and chuckles when he sees which one Alec has chosen to start with.

The next day, a hasty message is scrawled in the journal. ‘You son of a bitch, you gave me a book that ended in a cliffhanger because you knew I wouldn’t be able to resist asking for the next one in the series! You’re the worst.’

Smirking, Magnus writes back, ‘Guilty as charged’ and then sets down the second book.

Alec doesn’t reply (although he does start reading the new book immediately) so Magnus gives him a few days before he writes, ‘Who’s your favorite character?’

‘I’m not writing you a book report,’ Alec responds.

It’s not exactly the response that Magnus was looking for, but it amuses him, so he lets it slide. Instead, he asks, ‘Do Shadowhunters write a lot of book reports? I admit I’m unfamiliar with your schooling system.’

When he arrives the next day, Alec has just written, ‘No.’ in the book. The fact that he answered at all is more than Magnus was expecting. He sits down at Alec’s desk and writes almost an entire page about how warlocks find each other, the schools they go to, learning to use their magic. He, personally, went to a warlock academy in Beijing, and he has very fond memories of it, even hundreds of years later. Since warlocks are so often abandoned by their parents, many of them function as a daycare or even a nursery.

He doesn’t really expect a response, but the next day, Alec writes back, ‘Shadowhunter Academies aren’t like that at all.’

‘What are they like?’ Magnus asks.

‘Very strict. We have basic schooling until we’re twelve, and then it’s mostly training for the field.’

‘They start you training that young?’

‘We have to be ready,’ Alec writes back.

Magnus debates the obvious question for a long moment before deciding to go ahead and ask it. ‘Ready for what?’

‘The war, obviously,’ Alec replies.

Magnus almost asks at what age children are conscripted into this war, but he knows that would be a step too far. To be fair, the war against the demons is very real, and the Shadowhunters were basically bred for this purpose. Not that that makes things better for any Shadowhunter who might not want to participate, but Magnus honestly doesn’t know if any of those exist. So instead he says, ‘You might not know this, but most warlocks don’t associate with demons. Our fathers rarely want anything to do with us. Demons don’t discriminate when they go looking for victims, so we’re hurt by them as often as mundanes are.’

The next day, there’s no reply. He worries that he might have upset Alec, but decides to give him another day before asking or changing the subject. When he stops by the next day, Alec has written, ‘You’re a lot more able to protect yourselves than the average mundane.’

‘That’s true,’ Magnus replies, ‘but irrelevant to the point I was making.’

Alec’s handwriting is a little hasty and annoyed the next day. ‘Go back to talking about warlock academies.’

Magnus smiles despite himself and starts writing a fun story about the time he worked as a professor at one of the Academies, and the children he met there. He writes far more than he should, and leaves feeling good about things.

He’s surprised a few days later when, instead of one of the usual messages, Alec has scrawled out, ‘Where are you?’ He frowns and ponders that for a few minutes, wondering why Alec is asking, and if he dares answer. Finally, he decides that he doesn’t. Instead, he writes, ‘I’m afraid I’m not quite comfortable with you knowing that yet.’

His curiosity over the matter drives him back to Alec’s early the next day. The newest message reads, ‘We got a tip on a warlock lair in Queens. Don’t be in the city tonight. I can’t risk you being caught again.’

Touched, although he’s sure that Alec’s interest is mostly self-serving, Magnus writes, ‘Thanks for the heads up.’ Then he leaves Alec’s room and starts calling every warlock he knows to warn them, as well. He doubts Alec would want him to do this, but he’s also very sure Alec knows that he’s going to.

Somehow, he’s unsurprised to see the message the next day. ‘We need to talk.’

He doesn’t write a reply, but merely waits until after nightfall and then portals back into Alec’s room. Alec is there, pacing back and forth with his arms folded over his stomach. He spins around the instant Magnus comes in, and launches in without waiting. “I can’t warn you of every raid, Magnus. One miss isn’t a big deal – they just figure that one of the warlocks with a touch of foresight saw it coming. But if it starts to happen regularly, they’ll wonder what’s going on, and eventually they’ll figure it out. I have to know where you live.”

Magnus lets out a breath, then gives a slight nod. “Brooklyn,” he says. “I have a loft in Crown Heights.”

Alec’s posture relaxes slightly. “Okay,” he says.

They stand in silence for a moment. Magnus waits to see if there’s more. There doesn’t seem to be, and now Alec looks uncomfortable, like he had figured Magnus would argue with him and now he’s not sure what to say. “I wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Magnus says, amused despite himself.

“So, I, uh . . . yeah.” Alec clears his throat. “I mean, that, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Magnus has to bite back a grin at the stammering. His soulmate is _adorable_. Still, he has an important question to ask. “How did the raid go?”

Alec’s shoulders hunch even more uncomfortably. “Okay, I guess. I mean, no casualties. They didn’t find the guy they were going there to capture. Obviously, since you warned everybody.”

“Mm hm. What crimes was he being arrested for, by the way?”

Alec looks at him suspiciously, then says, “Are you baiting me?”

Magnus looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“I mean, you and I both know that the Clave orders the capture of warlocks for no reason all the time, so if you’re trying to, to trick me into some lie, then I’m not going to fall for it. I’m not going to stand here and try to say that we had a reason to go in there. We didn’t. We capture warlocks to be interrogated for intelligence on demonic activity, and they get released when that’s done. Are you happy now?”

“Do I look happy?” Magnus asks dryly.

Alec’s mouth tightens, and he snaps, “I don’t know what you want from me! Do you want me to admit that it sucks? I’m well aware it sucks, okay? I hate doing it. I hate the fact that we’re supposed to protect innocents but ever since I got into the field it seems like half of what I do is harass people who haven’t done anything wrong. None of that changes the fact that my opinion doesn’t mean a God damned thing to the Clave.”

Magnus sighs. “That’s true. But yes, since you ask, I was baiting you. I wanted to know if you would defend what the Clave did.”

“What would you have done if I had?” Alec asks warily.

“Kicked your ass,” Magnus says, and Alec gives a snort of unwilling laughter. Magnus walks over to the room’s one chair, a hard, wooden desk chair. He grimaces at it and gestures slightly, creating a cushioned one in its place, and then sinks down into it. “Let me ask you a question, Alec: what do you want out of life? What do you dream of accomplishing?”

Alec glowers slightly as Magnus makes himself comfortable. “Why do you care?”

Magnus taps his chest. “Soulmate, remember?”

“I guess.” Alec’s scowl lessens, but only barely. He leans against the desk, folding his arms over his chest. “But okay. Sure. Because I’m not ashamed to admit it. I want to fight evil, help innocent people, and in doing so, bring glory and honor to my family.”

“Not to yourself?” Magnus asks.

“That’s not how it works. We don’t fight for ourselves. It’s always about the family name. _That’s_ what’s important. We don’t . . .” Alec hesitates. “We don’t live long enough, a lot of the time, for anything else. We bring glory to the family name because _that’s_ what survives.”

Magnus nods, considering this. It sounds so odd to him, but he knows that Shadowhunters have an entirely separate culture. It makes sense, given their shorter lifespans and closer family ties, that they would consider such a thing important. Warlocks create their own communities, and they’re fiercely loyal within their own communes. So although it doesn’t make sense to him, he can see where the desire comes from. “So what’s your family like?”

He’s hoping to get Alec to loosen up a little, but if anything, Alec’s posture becomes even tighter and more defensive. “They’re, you know. My dad is really important. He and my mother run this entire Institute. They expect a lot from me.”

Sensing that he needs to tread lightly, Magnus doesn’t ask any of the thousand questions about Alec’s parents that are now swirling in his brain. Instead, he says, “Any siblings?”

“Uh, yeah. I have a younger brother and a younger sister. Max is only five. Izzy’s closer to my age but she’s part of the Iron Sisters, so I haven’t seen her since I was sixteen.”

“They don’t allow visits?” Magnus asks, surprised. “Not even among family?”

“Only under very special circumstances,” Alec says. “The Iron Sisters are really reclusive.”

“Why?” Magnus asks blankly.

“I don’t know. Because they are. They need to focus on their work.”

“I suppose so,” Magnus says, despite the fact that he doesn’t understand at all. “I’m sure it was a great honor for her to be chosen.”

“Oh, uh, well.” Alec clears his throat. “I mean, it is? But also I’m pretty sure my parents twisted some arms to make that happen. They thought Izzy was ‘undisciplined’ and that being in the Iron Sisters was a better choice for her than field work.”

Magnus blinks at him, wondering how this simple conversation is somehow filled with land mines. He decides to change the subject entirely. Alec’s only tying himself in tighter and tighter knots, the longer they talk about this, and he doesn’t want to make him close off. They’re actually having a real conversation for the first time. “So how long have you been a field agent?”

“Oh, uh, about three months now,” Alec says, and he does loosen up slightly. “I’m pretty much the low man on the totem poll. Especially right now, because I got sent back to basic for a month after you escaped.”

“I’d say I’m sorry about that, but . . .”

Alec shrugs. “It could have been a lot worse. I mean, it’s only because of Pangborn’s pitiful lack of work ethic that he wasn’t in there when I was searching you. If I’d been paired with anybody else on that mission, it would have gone a lot differently. I’m, uh.” He rubs a hand over the back of his head. “I’m kind of surprised we caught you. I mean, you’re four hundred years old and I’ve watched you throw a ton of magic around.”

“Ah, yes, well.” Magnus shrugs a little. “I stayed behind to make sure the others got out safely, and holding the portal open that long drained my energy. I would’ve had to let it collapse before I was sure everyone was through if I wanted to defend myself.”

“Oh.” Alec won’t quite look at him. “I guess all’s well that ends well.”

Magnus smiles despite himself. “I did get to meet you, so honestly, no regrets.”

Alec glances up at this, a shy smile touching his mouth. “Really?”

“Of course. Who knows when we might have met again? Sometimes soulmates only meet once in their lives. We have to stay on our toes. And while warlocks will look for each other, keep track of who has what name and introduce people when possible . . . that obviously wouldn’t have worked for you and me.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Alec clears his throat. “Anyway, uh, it’s getting late. You should probably go.”

“If you insist.” Magnus stands up and changes the chair back with a wave of his hand. “On one condition,” he adds, and Alec gives him a suspicious look. “Write to me in our book, mm? I want to know absolutely everything about you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Alec says, and Magnus laughs before he departs.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Alec stares down at the book for several long moments. There’s a part of him that wants to just pick it up and find a fire to throw it into. Another part of him that wants to pour his entire heart and soul out onto the pages, take all his confusion and indecision and torn feelings and set them down in ink. He has no idea what to write, or why he’s even writing in the book at all. He should tell Magnus to get gone and stay gone. But he can’t. For four years, he’s had nobody to talk to. Now Magnus has showed up and settled in, and even though Alec knows he shouldn’t engage with him, he can’t _not_.

After what seems like an eternity of staring at the page, he picks up the pen and writes down, “I miss my sister. She was so vibrant and full of joy. I hate the idea of her with the Iron Sisters, shut away in their cloister. She must feel like she’s suffocating there. I want to help her but there’s no way that I can. I’m not even allowed to write her letters. She was the only person I ever felt like I could talk to and be myself around. I think that’s why I keep talking to you and writing to you in this stupid book, because I’ve been so alone without her.”

He re-reads it, feeling tears prick at his eyes, which is pathetic. He wipes them away hastily and thinks about crossing it all out. But then he just closes the book and turns away, heading downstairs to go on patrol.

He’s more eager than he wants to admit to get back to his room and see what Magnus has written, even going up to his room before he stops in the cafeteria for dinner. He loves Magnus’ elegant script, beautiful but still clear. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Alexander. But I’m glad to hear that talking to me gives you some relief from that. I don’t have any siblings myself, but I have several close friends that I grew up with, and I know that losing any one of them would break my heart.’

Alec hesitates, then scribbles, “Tell me about them.”

He doesn’t have to wonder if Magnus will comply; he knows that he will. Indeed, when he comes back the next day, Magnus has written three entire pages about his friends Ragnor and Catarina, about how they’ve both provided love and counsel over the years. It was Catarina, he writes, who helped him come to terms with the fact that his soulmate is a Shadowhunter. He tells Alec about Ragnor’s grand mansion full of books, and Catarina’s work as a doctor. ‘Have you not made any friends in your own ranks?’ he adds at the end.

‘I can’t,’ Alec writes back. ‘I can’t risk anyone ever finding out about the mark. Besides that, honestly, I wouldn’t want to.’ He has to stop and think about how to phrase this. ‘The people I’ve met working in the field aren’t the type of people I want to call friends.’

He sort of hopes Magnus will let it go, but naturally he doesn’t, and Alec has to admit that in Magnus’ shoes, he wouldn’t either. ‘Why not?’

There’s no answer he can give. Nothing he wants to put down on paper, nothing that can really explain the squirmy feeling he gets in his stomach whenever Morgenstern or Starkweather looks his way. He still doesn’t know how he feels about _any_ of that. How is he supposed to make his mother proud when to do so, he’d have to betray everything he knows in his heart to be true? How can his parents _want_ him to do those things? How had he not realized any of this at the Academy? They talked about how Downworlders ‘give in to their demonic impulses’ but never mentioned targeting them when they _weren’t_ doing that. How can he know what the truth is when he’s not even allowed to ask questions without creating suspicion that might end in demotion or worse?

Well, there’s one person he can ask questions. He writes, ‘Do you know any warlocks who have been captured by us?’

‘Several, yes,’ Magnus replies, and the brevity of his response makes Alec feel like he’s being more cautious than usual. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Do you know what happens to them afterwards? Have you seen them?’

‘No,’ Magnus replies, and Alec’s stomach sinks. But hadn’t he known that was the answer? Hadn’t he asked the question fully expecting that what he had been told was a lie? ‘One of them, I was close enough to that I know she’s dead. The rest, I simply never saw again.’

‘I was told they’re released,’ Alec writes, pressing down on the paper so hard that he leaves impressions on the next page. ‘I asked what happened to them after the interrogation, and that’s what I was told. But I felt like I knew it wasn’t true.’ He stops writing for a few moments. ‘I should have said something, but I didn’t.’

It’s hard to concentrate on his patrols the next day. He’s thinking about the warlock with green skin that he helped capture, about the friend of Magnus’ that he knows is dead. His stomach turns at the idea of what Magnus will have written in the book, of Magnus being disgusted by his naïveté, of Magnus not wanting anything to do with him. It’s ridiculous. He _should_ want Magnus to want nothing to do with him. But the thought of it still makes his insides knot up.

What he reads stuns him.

‘None of this is your fault, Alexander. People before you have been making choices for centuries that led to the world you were born in. You were lied to your entire life, are still being lied to, to keep you following orders without question. But you _are_ questioning, and honestly, I think that makes you amazing.’

Alec doesn’t think about what to write next, which is why somehow he ends up writing, ‘Will you come see me tonight? So we can talk?’

When he gets back after patrol – his last day of patrol before he goes back on active duty – Magnus has written, ‘Of course. I’ll be there at ten.’

He paces a lot, and tries to work out what he wants to say, which is difficult given that he really has no idea. When the portal opens and Magnus comes through – looking stunning in a dark red shirt and a black jacket with a red lining – he blurts out, “I’m supposed to go back on missions tomorrow and I don’t know what to do.”

Magnus steps towards him and conjures a glass with a flick of his wrist, then hands it over. Alec takes a drink, then grimaces at the taste. Magnus doesn’t comment, saying instead, “The vast majority of your missions are against demons, are they not?”

“Yeah,” Alec says, sipping the drink a little more gingerly. “But if we see a Downworlder while we’re out, we’re supposed to bring them in.”

“Do you go out on missions alone?”

“No, never. Always in pairs.”

Magnus nods a little. “Then the question is, what are you prepared to do?”

“I don’t know. Magnus, I don’t _know_.” Alec pinches the bridge of his nose. “All my life, all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever been _allowed_ to want, is, is this one thing. But now that I’ve gotten here, now that it’s within reach, it – it’s not – ”

“It’s not what you thought,” Magnus finishes for him, reaching out and taking Alec’s hands in his own. He gives them a squeeze. “I can’t imagine how awful this must be for you. I know you must feel helpless. But you have choices, Alexander. Remember that. You could leave, come with me. I know they would look for you, but I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. Or you could stay, go on assignments, ask questions, raise objections. I don’t know how that would end for you, but I can tell you that I would support you in it, that I will protect you any way I can. You could even stay and continue on, presume that the people in charge have reasons for giving the orders they give. It’s not the choice I would make, but it is still a choice.”

“If I ask questions, it wouldn’t end well.” Alec looks away and then gives a bitter little laugh. “But I guess that’s a given no matter what, isn’t it. There’s no happy ending in this for me.”

“We write our own stories, Alexander,” Magnus says. “Including the endings.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Just do one thing for me,” Magnus says, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a shining purple stone. “Take this. It’s a portal shard. Press your thumb against it and think of me, and I’ll hear you. If you need me and you don’t have the time you would need to send me a message in our book, just do that, and I’ll come for you.” He presses the stone into Alec’s hand and bends his fingers around it.

“Okay.” Alec clutches the stone so tightly that he feels the edges of it dig into his skin. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, Alec. Do you want me to stay?”

Alec hesitates. “Will you just – can we just talk for a while? It’s stupid, but all we ever seem to talk about is what a mess my life is. And you’ve lived so long, you must’ve been so many different places and done so much – maybe you can tell me about some of that?”

“A bedtime story?” Magnus’ lips quirk. “I think I can oblige.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 


	4. Chapter 4

Alec feels fortunate that his first mission is assigned with Lydia Branwell. She’s got a reputation as a frigid bitch, but she’s only a few years older than him and she’s a lot easier to talk to than Morgenstern’s inner circle. They’re staking out an old warehouse, and he takes a deep breath and says, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Lydia shrugs, barely taking her eyes off their target. “You can always ask.”

“Do you think they really let the warlocks go after they’re interrogated?”

At this, Lydia gives him a sharp glance, and he has to fight not to cringe. “Some of them, maybe, but probably not many.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

Lydia’s silent for a long minute before she lets out a breath. “Look, Alec. You’ve been doing this, what, three months at this point? You’ve barely scratched the surface of what these missions are like, how bad things can really get. This is a war. There are going to be casualties, sometimes even civilian casualties. That’s not something I like, but it’s also something I can’t change.”

Alec thinks that over. “Do you think it’s worth it? Not the war,” he adds, as she gives him an incredulous look. “I mean, targeting the warlocks.”

“I think someone a lot older and smarter than I am has done the math,” Lydia says. “Someone has decided that we get enough intelligence from it to make it worth it.”

“But how are they weighing it?” Alec asks. “Life for life? How many mundane lives do we save for every warlock killed?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia says. “I’m not sure how I would weigh it. One for a thousand, maybe?”

“That high?” Alec asks, his stomach twisting.

“They’re warlocks, Alec. They’re not human. I wouldn’t go out of my way to hurt one, but yes, if it saves humans then I think it’s worth it.”

Alec drops the subject, because he doesn’t want her to get pissed at him or tell anyone else what he’s said. Their stakeout is a bust, and they go home. A couple days later, he goes on another mission with her. They catch the demon and kill it, and go home without seeing any warlocks, so it’s no big deal.

Two days later he’s on a mission with Raj, who’s not exactly a friend, but certainly not intimidating in any sort of way. Alec tries the same conversational tactic, and Raj just blows him off. He clearly doesn’t care if the warlocks they capture survive or not, and he just as clearly has no idea why Alec is asking about it.

“Have you ever met a warlock?” Alec asks.

“Sure, dozens of ‘em,” Raj says.

“But I mean, have you ever had a conversation with one?”

Raj gives him an ‘are you kidding me’ look. “Uh, no? I mean, it’s not like we go out for coffee with the guys we’re trying to capture. Or like they want to talk to us. If they see one of us, they run, or they attack us.”

Alec thinks that they can hardly blame the warlocks for that. Since he’s still curious, he goes down to the Institute’s library and asks if he can review the files. He says that he’s doing a statistics project for his parents, who want to see how their Institute is running. The librarian comments that the Lightwoods receive regular reports, and Alec manages to imply that they want to double check to make sure the reports are accurate without coming out and calling anyone a liar. That serves two purposes – it gets him the files, first of all, and it also makes sure the librarian won’t tell anyone that he asked.

The first thing he finds is that only three Shadowhunters have been killed by warlocks in the last fifty years. In two of those cases, it was almost definitely self-defense, although the warlock was still convicted and executed. There have been about two dozen cases of warlocks misbehaving in other ways, tormenting mundanes or using their magic for malicious purposes. There’s no comparative analysis, however, and Alec knows that mundanes kill each other all the time for the most ridiculous of reasons. Even the Shadowhunters aren’t immune to their own committing crimes against each other.

He certainly doesn’t see the sort of evidence of warlocks being dangerous that would justify targeting them in general. He tries to look up details on their interrogations, but those don’t seem to exist. That’s something that makes him distinctly uncomfortable. If they were truly being questioned for intelligence, then detailed records of those interrogations should exist, in case they need to be referenced in the future.

It’s bad enough if they torture warlocks for information that they probably don’t have. The idea that they might torture them for no reason at all horrifies Alec on a level too deep and fundamental to express.

His next mission, he and Raj encounter three warlocks in the field. Raj wants to try to take them in, but Alec manages to convince him that going three on two isn’t worth the risk. Raj doesn’t seem suspicious, reluctantly admitting that Alec is probably right. But Alec knows it won’t be like that every time.

While all this is going on, Magnus is coming to visit every night, but they don’t talk about the work Alec is doing. Instead, Magnus tells Alec stories about places he’s been and people he’s met. Alec knows that he’s asking for trouble, but Magnus has promised him multiple times that nobody will be able to see or hear him except Alec. It’s clear that he’s a very powerful warlock, so Alec believes him.

“This portal shard . . .” Alec turns it over in his hand. “Will it work for anyone else, or just me?”

“Just you,” Magnus says. “It’s the soulmate bond that gives me the ability to sense you through it. Why do you ask?”

“I just thought . . . if we did have to take a warlock captive, I could give them the shard,” Alec says. “Then maybe you could come get them, break them out. But I guess it won’t work if the shard only works for me.”

“That’s not a bad thought, actually,” Magnus says. “That particular way of communication will only work for you. But I could give you a sort of distress beacon to pass along to any captured warlocks, that they could use to alert me, perhaps with a drop of blood. Wouldn’t that make trouble for you, though? If your superiors noticed that every warlock you captured escaped.”

“Yeah, it would,” Alec says, not looking at him. “But I thought, until I figured out what to do . . . it’s better to have a plan than to just hope it won’t come up.”

“That’s true,” Magnus says. “I’m happy to get you one if that’s what you want.”

“Plus, maybe I could give it to other warlocks who had been captured.” Alec’s face is pensive. “So they wouldn’t see the pattern. I could just smuggle it in if I could get into the – ” His sentence is cut off when there’s a knock on the door, a sharp, rapid knock that Alec knows well. His head jerks up and the color drains from his face. “That’s my mother,” he hisses, before raising his voice and calling out, “Just a second!”

“No need to worry,” Magnus says smoothly, erasing the evidence of their meal with a wave of his hand, then snapping his fingers to transform the cushioned chair back to the wooden one. “Remember, she can’t see or hear me.”

“At least hide in the closet or something,” Alec says, with such a pleading expression that Magnus gives in, ducking out of sight. He takes a breath to steady his nerves and then opens the door, standing back and going to parade rest without even having to think about it. “Hello, Mother. It’s good to see you.”

Maryse sweeps in and closes the door behind her, and she doesn’t bother with a hello. “I’ve heard you’re back in the field.”

“Yes, for about two weeks now,” Alec says.

“That . . . person . . . hasn’t bothered you again?”

Somehow, Alec manages to keep a straight face as he says, “No. I haven’t seen or heard from him. He probably doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“True. But you can never tell how a Downworlder will react to something.” Maryse swipes her finger along the top of Alec’s bureau and then examines it for dust. Finding none, she gives a satisfied nod. “You know Jace Herondale, of course? He completed his field training. He’s going to be starting on official missions next week.”

Alec makes a noncommittal noise, wondering why his mother is bringing it up.

“Try not to slow him down,” she continues. “He got top marks in his field assessments.”

Alec did, too, but she’s never bothered to say anything about it. “That sounds like a Herondale.”

Pleasantries dispensed, Maryse turns to him and says, “Morgenstern was asking me about you. Apparently you’ve been doing very well in the field.”

Alec feels a swell of pride in his gut that all the worry over Magnus can’t dispel. He’s _good_ at this. No matter what his mother thinks, no matter how she’s disregarded him, his hard work has paid off. If Morgenstern has bothered to mention it to his mother, then he must be impressed. “My missions have been going well, yes.”

“Too well,” Maryse says, folding her arms over her chest. Alec blinks at her in confusion. She sighs. “Alec. You know as well as I do that you can’t be too successful, because you won’t be able to take the Institute after us. You won’t be able to marry and have children, because of your little warlock problem. If you thrive, if you excel, then it will raise too many eyebrows when we pass you over in favor of Max.”

“What do you want me to do?” Alec asks. “Fail? Let demons get away, hurt more people?”

“I’m not thrilled with this either, you know,” Maryse retorts, “but yes, I think on occasion you have to make mistakes, let others show you up. It will be easier once Jace is here. Everyone will focus on him. Just let him have the spotlight. Okay?”

“No!” Alec blurts out, without thinking. “No, it’s not okay! I’ve worked _hard_ to get where I am. I’m doing well, I can do this – ”

“Right up until you get injured in the field and a medic cuts your shirt off!” Maryse snaps. “Right up until people start asking questions about why you aren’t married! Yes, you’ve worked hard. But I told you from the beginning that it was nothing but a pipe dream. You’re the one who chose to keep working for an unattainable goal, so don’t throw your years of hard work in my face like they matter!”

“You never told me I would have to fail on purpose!”

“It’s not my fault if you didn’t stop to think through the consequences of your actions.” Maryse takes a deep breath and forces a smile. “Alec. Honey. I know that this isn’t your fault, that you didn’t ask for this. But you have to remember what it means for our family if people find out. Think of what people will say! We could lose the Institute altogether! So for our sake, for _Max’s_ sake, do what I’ve told you.”

Alec can barely speak around the lump in his throat. He manages a nod and says, “Yes, Mother.”

“There’s my good boy,” she says, and kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll check in with you later.”

Alec watches her go, watches her close the door behind her. He realizes that his fists are clenched at his sides, that his entire body is trembling. He whirls around as he hears a soft click, and sees Magnus emerging from his closet. He had almost forgotten he was there, and the sudden realization that Magnus had heard that entire conversation makes him want to throw himself out the window.

“I know ‘are you all right’ is probably a stupid question, but . . .”

Rubbing one hand at the back of his neck, Alec studies the ceiling until he trusts himself to speak. “Yeah. Well. That was actually not the most painful conversation I’ve ever had with my mother, so. Top five, though. Gotta give it credit.”

Magnus gives him another moment before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Alec stares at the door and says dully, “It was never going to be enough for her. She’s right. It was stupid to hope. I’m the one who threw my back into doing something I knew damned well would never happen.”

“I don’t think it’s ever stupid to hope,” Magnus says quietly.

Alec shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just leave me alone. I know that, that this isn’t your fault, but I don’t – I don’t want to look at you right now.”

Magnus is silent for a moment, but then he nods. “I’ll come visit again tomorrow,” he says, and exits through a portal before Alec can change his mind.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Magnus is working on one of his potions when he feels a sharp pain in his arm. He winces a little, drawing the attention of his customer, and assures her that he’s all right. But the pain lingers. It’s not bad enough that he throws everything aside to check on Alec, but it’s concerning. It makes it difficult to concentrate on what he’s doing until the hour is finally late enough that he judges he can go see Alec without causing a problem.

His rooms are empty when Magnus portals in, despite it being past eight PM. He frowns a little but sits down, pulling out a book he’s brought to pass the time. About twenty minutes have passed when the door opens and Alec stumbles in. His shirt is torn and blood-stained, his hair disheveled and his skin paler than usual. He’s got one hand clenched down on his upper arm and a grimace on his face.

“Are you all right?” Magnus asks, getting to his feet.

“I’m fine,” Alec says through gritted teeth, then sees the way Magnus is looking at him. He slumps down into a chair, still holding onto his arm. “I screwed up, okay?”

“May I?” Magnus asks, and Alec jerks away from him as he reaches for the wound. Then he gives a grunt of pain. Magnus notices that there are more wounds on his back, where he can see them through the torn fabric of his shirt. Two of the deeper ones look like they’re still bleeding sluggishly. “These haven’t been seen to at all?”

“Of course not!” Alec shouts. “How can I go see a medic with your God damned name on my chest?”

Magnus grimaces a little. “Well, I’m taking care of them whether you like it or not,” he says. Alec shoots him an annoyed look, which he ignores, but doesn’t continue to protest. He makes another slight noise as Magnus carefully peels the shirt away from the wounds. They’re reddened and swollen, and Magnus winces. “Forsaken wounds often need a little warlock TLC in any case, so it’s a good thing I’m here.”

“Sure,” Alec mutters.

Since he clearly isn’t in the mood to chat, Magnus doesn’t try. Before anything else, the wounds need to be cleaned. He conjures up some warm water, disinfectant, and a cloth. Alec’s jaw sets stoically as he gets started, and Magnus takes a moment to draw some of the pain out of the wounds. Without meaning to, Alec lets out a breath of relief, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“You’ve got a fever,” Magnus says. His fingers brush the back of Alec’s neck, making him shiver in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries. “Why did you go so long without getting these seen to? You needn’t have waited for me; you could have called.”

Alec shakes his head a little and mutters, “I was getting debriefed.”

“Oh?” Magnus asks, keeping the motions of his hands slow and deliberate.

“Yeah. I fucked up.” Alec slumps over the table, resting his weight on his good arm. “Of course I fucked up. My mother told me to fuck up. And now I’m in trouble for fucking up.”

“What happened?” Magnus asks, fighting the urge to wrap Alec in blankets and take him away from all these hateful people.

“Demon had gathered a bunch of Forsaken and used them as cover getting away. I was on perimeter. Should’ve been able to take him. I’m good at a distance. I couldn’t bring myself to miss, so instead I plunged into the up-close fighting, and got my back and arm shredded by one of them. It’s not that I’m not good in an up-close fight, it’s just that I was so distracted by trying to do well but not too well that I held back, but I wasn’t sure how _much_ to hold back, and . . .” Alec’s voice trails off. “So that sucked, _and_ I got in trouble for not taking the shot at the demon. ‘Poor judgment’, according to Starkweather. Fuck that guy.”

Magnus finishes cleaning the wounds, frowning a little at how terrible they still look. He gently rubs his hand over the back of Alec’s neck for a few moments, without thinking about it. “I’m going to need a few things from my apothecary,” he decides. “Will you be all right here for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Alec says, and sighs. “Not going anywhere.”

Magnus really doesn’t like leaving him, but he unquestionably needs treatment. Still, he decides to bring what he needs and brew the potion at Alec’s, rather than doing it in his own quarters. He grabs a healing salve and then some other ingredients. Alec hasn’t moved an inch from where Magnus had left him, so Magnus starts applying the salve to the wounds on his back. Alec leans into his touch, clearly enjoying it, and Magnus thinks about how touch-starved he must be. Nephilim don’t seem to be an affectionate bunch to begin with, and given Alec’s circumstances . . .

He shakes the thoughts off and finishes with the salve, then helps Alec over to the bed and makes him lie down. “Let me throw a few things together here,” he says, taking out the flask of spring water that will serve as the base for the potion. He mixes a potion to ward off the malicious influence of the Forsaken and the more practical effects of the fever, then adds a painkiller and a mild sedative to help him sleep. “All right, drink,” he says, tipping it into Alec’s mouth.

Alec swallows without argument. He’s clearly exhausted by this point, and the fever and the pain, combined with the magic, have made his movements slow and his eyes glassy. “Don’ go anywhere,” he mumbles, sinking back against the pillows.

“Of course not,” Magnus says, pulling the blankets up over him. “Will you do something for me, in return?”

“Maybe,” Alec mutters.

“You need to take tomorrow off. You’re still going to be weak and in pain, and it will affect your performance. I know that you’re the type who will try to throw himself back into the field to prove something, but please, don’t.”

“You think you know me so well,” Alec says.

“I rather think I do, yes,” Magnus says, reaching out to trace his hand over Alec’s face, rubbing his thumb over Alec’s cheekbone.

“Yeah, you do,” Alec says with a sigh, turning his face into Magnus’ hand. “Know me better than anyone. That’s fucked up, huh?”

“Little bit, yes,” Magnus says.

Alec is half-asleep by now, the tension slowly draining out of his body. “Hey, Magnus,” he murmurs.

“Mm?”

“Why doesn’ my mother love me?”

Magnus freezes, knowing there’s no way to answer _that_ question, even if he knew the answer, which he doesn’t. From what Alec has said, he can tell that Maryse’s poor treatment of him predates the soulmate mark, so it isn’t that. He takes comfort in the fact that Alec undoubtedly won’t remember this in the morning, and says soothingly, “I don’t know, Alexander. I suspect it’s because she has no heart to love anyone.”

“I just want to make her proud,” Alec says, blinking slowly up at Magnus. “’Sall I’ve ever wanted. I try so hard. But it never works and I don’t know why.”

Magnus smoothes down his hair, watching as Alec’s eyes sag shut. “We can talk about this later,” he says, despite knowing that Alec would probably be rather dragged across hot coals than talk about this when he’s awake and coherent. “Get some rest.”

“Mmkay,” Alec says, and lets out another little sigh. Magnus continues to smooth down his hair, and sits with him for a long time.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I warn for homophobia? I mean, along with all the other bigotry.... so hey, warnings for homophobia!
> 
> Also I'm very sure I'm maligning the Aline Penhallow's parents in this 'verse and they probably haven't done anything to deserve it. Sorry, Penhallows.

Alec is halfway zoned out during the briefing, until he hears the words ‘warlock academy’. He tunes back in to realize that Valentine is talking about having determined the location of the academy in Brooklyn. They’re already planning the raid. Alec glances around, looking at the studious expressions of his fellow Shadowhunters, all of them paying attention and clearly ready to go. Nobody seems to have a problem with the fact that Valentine is ordering them to attack a school. And there’s nothing Alec can say. He can’t question Valentine’s orders, no matter how morally reprehensible he finds them. After a few moments to consider, he clears his throat and says, “Can I get some clarification on our orders?”

“What is it, Lightwood?” Valentine asks, barely looking over from where he’s studying some sort of blueprints.

“A warlock academy would be mostly populated by children, is that correct?”

Now Valentine looks at him, his gaze sharp and assessing. Almost everyone nearby looks over, too, as Valentine says, “Is that a problem?”

Since saying ‘yes’ is clearly only going to land him with a charge of insubordination, Alec says, “I was just wondering whether we should prioritize the capture of adults. It’s doubtful that children could supply us with useful intelligence, and we’ll only be able to handle a few prisoners each. In a target-rich environment like this, I feel like it might benefit us to focus on finding the teachers and any other adults.”

“Makes sense,” Valentine says, and the noise level starts to return to normal. “Though frankly, I bet the adults are going to bail as soon as they figure out we’re there. And capturing the children does have advantages. If they _do_ know anything, they’ll probably tell us with a lot less . . . persuasion than the adults need.”

“Yes, sir,” Alec says, since further discussion of how much they’re going to have to torture these warlock children will make him throw up. He finishes packing up his weapons and then ducks out the back door. The raid is scheduled to take place in less than an hour. There’s no time to be subtle. He wonders if Valentine is rushing this one because he knows that people might object, and he doesn’t want to give them time to think. Maybe not. Certainly nobody else in the room had seemed to have a problem with it. They’d had more of a problem with Alec asking questions.

He grabs the portal shard out of his desk drawer and gives it a suspicious look before he fits it into his hand and rubs his thumb against it. “Come on, come on,” he mutters. “Please work, please work . . .” He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Magnus doesn’t answer. He can’t just let the raid happen, but there’s nothing he can do to prevent it, either.

The question never needs to be answered. Fewer than five seconds have gone by before there’s the same whoosh-thump noise and Magnus steps through a portal. He looks surprised, and a little concerned. “Alexander, is everything all right?”

“Your Brooklyn academy is compromised,” Alec says, not wasting time on pleasantries. “You have less than an hour before it’s going to be swarming with Shadowhunters, and we’ve been ordered to capture the children if possible.”

Magnus went slightly pale as soon as the first sentence was out of Alec’s mouth, but he’s calm by the end of it. He nods and says, “I’ll take care of it,” re-opening his portal with the wave of one hand. Then he hesitates, steps forward, and kisses Alec hard on the mouth. Alec stands there unmoving, paralyzed, before Magnus pulls away and ducks through the portal. Even after Magnus is gone, he stands there for several long seconds, still feeling Magnus’ lips against his own.

He shakes himself, hard, and jogs back down to the briefing room before he can be missed. Half an hour later, he’s suited up and ready to go; fifteen minutes later, they’re on the move. The academy is in a set of nondescript brownstone buildings. They surround it and breach the perimeter. Alec’s training takes over, and he doesn’t think about it much as he sweeps the various hallways with his partner. It doesn’t take long for them to determine that the buildings are empty.

Several of the team leaders have gathered in the front hallway, including Valentine. Alec hangs on the outskirts, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but also wanting to know if Valentine suspects a rat. However, they’ve barely started talking when the mirror directly in front of the door starts to glow and a man appears in it. “Hello, Nephilim!” he says cheerfully, in a British accent. “I have a piece of advice for you. Next time you think you can take one of our academies, try not to target the one with the best prognosticator in the world! Until then, kindly sod off!” He makes a rude gesture and then disappears.

Valentine swears under his breath, and Alec lets out a quiet sigh of relief. This still isn’t a long-term plan, but at least on this night, at this academy, he was able to prevent disaster. He heads back to the Institute with the others, strips off his gear and heads back up to his room.

Magnus is sitting on his bed, and Alec immediately flushes bright pink. “What, uh, what are you doing here?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder even though the door is shut.

“Well, I wanted to see you, of course,” Magnus says.

Alec clears his throat and resists the urge to ask ‘why?’ Instead, he says, “Okay, you’ve seen me. Now you can go.”

“Of course.” Magnus stands and opens a portal. But then he turns to Alec and holds out his hand. “I want to show you something.”

“I can’t just, just leave the Institute,” Alec says.

“Sure you can. Nobody will need you until morning. They’ll never know you were gone.”

Alec has to admit that he’s right. He tries to come up with an excuse, and his mind is blank, all thoughts suffocated by the pressing question of whether or not Magnus is planning to kiss him again. When Magnus wiggles his fingers, Alec is done. He puts his hand in Magnus’ without thinking, and Magnus pulls him through the portal.

He comes out into a fairly normal looking room, with brick walls and windows overlooking the Brooklyn skyline. He gives Magnus a questioning look, and Magnus smiles at him. “My loft apartment,” he says. “Drink?”

“I, I guess,” Alec says, trying to regain his bearings. He waits while Magnus pours two drinks and hands him a glass, snapping his fingers to add a little sparkle to the glass. “You said you wanted to show me something.”

“Cheers,” Magnus says, clearly amused at Alec’s impatience, and clinks his glass against Alec’s. Alec scowls at him but takes a swallow of his drink, then tries not to choke at the strong taste of liquor. He’s never been much of a drinker. Champagne on special occasions is really all he’s ever had. “Yes, I did. Follow me.”

Alec does so, albeit rather suspiciously. Magnus leads him down a short hallway and into a bedroom with two small bunk beds, clearly meant for children. There are two girls sitting by the window. They look about twelve and eight respectively, and the older one is braiding the younger girl’s hair. They both look up when Magnus comes in. “Hello, girls,” he says, smiling. The older girl smiles and says hello back. The younger one just looks at them seriously, warily. “Alec, this is Zoe, and this is Madzie. Girls, this is Alec Lightwood, the man I told you about.”

Zoe smiles up at Alec and says, “Thanks for helping the warlocks keep us safe, Mr. Lightwood.”

“Uh, yeah, I.” Alec can’t think of a single thing to say. He glances at Madzie, who’s clearly still gauging his intentions. She reminds him a little of himself when he was younger, always so serious and unsure. “Cool gills.”

Madzie ducks her head slightly and tugs at the scarf that covers them, but he catches the faintest hint of a smile on her face. Magnus, for his part, beams at Alec. Then he says, “You two should get some sleep. I’ll be out on the balcony if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Zoe says.

Alec follows Magnus out of the room. “Are they, uh, yours?” he manages.

“Oh, no,” Magnus says, taking both their drinks and heading out to the balcony, shutting the double doors behind them. “But there was a bit of a rush to find a place for all the children at the Academy to stay, so almost every warlock in the city has two or three staying with them until a permanent solution can be found. I thought you might want to meet a couple of the children whose lives you saved.”

“We wouldn’t have _killed_ them, we . . .” Alec’s voice trails off as he realizes there’s no way he can end that sentence. “Yeah. Thanks. I’m . . . glad I was able to meet them.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Magnus says. “You’re the one who saved them.”

“I shouldn’t have had to.” Alec shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

They stand in silence for a few moments, Magnus sipping his drink, Alec staring out over the city.

“I just kept waiting for someone to say something,” Alec finally says. “To point out that a school was a totally inappropriate target. To say that children should be off-limits. But nobody did. And when I tried to ask about it . . . you could’ve heard a pin drop. I felt like I was under a microscope. Nobody even _understood_ why I was bringing it up.”

“I hope you aren’t going to end up in trouble,” Magnus says, with a slight wince. “I had Ragnor leave that message in the hopes that it might take suspicion off you.”

“I deflected pretty well, I think. Said I was concerned about how to prioritize targets. But it doesn’t matter. It’ll happen again, eventually, sooner rather than later. And the worst part was . . .” Alec’s voice trails off. Magnus lets him have a minute, not pushing him. “It’s all bullshit, you know? We capture warlocks in the hopes that they’ll have information about demons, but they hardly ever do. We imprison them to use as bait for their demonic fathers, who never show up. There’s no reason to go after warlocks. So why do we do it? To keep people busy when there aren’t demons to hunt? To intimidate the warlocks into toeing the line? I don’t know, and not only do I not know, I can’t ask. Because to voice doubt is to show disloyalty to the Clave, and that could end not just my career, but the careers of my entire family. One single question would snowball into something that would end with me deruned and exiled, even if I _didn’t_ have this mark on my chest. And I just . . . don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“I don’t, either,” Magnus says, reaching out and twining his fingers through Alec’s. “I don’t have all the answers, Alec. But you’re not in this alone.”

“Thanks.” Alec doesn’t look at him. “But I feel like you think I’m going to be way better at this than I am. I never thought about this stuff for a long time. It was how I was raised, what I was brought up to believe. I probably wouldn’t have ever noticed this stuff if I hadn’t met you.”

“You think so?” Magnus seems surprised. “The capture and probable torture of children?”

“Look, we’re raised not to think of warlocks as people,” Alec says. “They’re half-demon, they’re always going to give in to their demonic impulses, we have to contain them to protect innocent people. That’s what we’re taught, it’s what we believe. I’m not your soulmate because I’m different from the other Shadowhunters. I’m different because you’re my soulmate. Because I grew up with this name on my chest that made me wonder if warlocks were like the Clave said, if I was fated to be with someone horrible, how and why that could have happened. I don’t know if I would have batted an eyelash at torturing warlock children if it weren’t for you, for this.” Alec touches his chest and then looks away. “I just don’t know.”

“I don’t know if the cause and effect happened like that,” Magnus says, “but either way, I’m grateful for what you did today. We’re all grateful.”

Alec hunches his shoulders inward and leans against the balcony. “I bet when you pictured your soulmate, you sure as hell never pictured me.”

Magnus laughs softly. “That is actually very true.”

“Sorry,” Alec says.

“Sorry?” Magnus echoes. “What for?”

“That you got disappointed like that.”

Magnus reaches out and curls his hand around Alec’s wrist. “I said I was surprised by you. Not that I was disappointed.”

“Don’t,” Alec says, tugging his arm away. “Come on. You could have had anyone, could have been with someone who didn’t stand by while warlocks were captured and tortured. You waited for four hundred years and you got stuck with me. Don’t fucking insult me by saying that you weren’t disappointed.”

Magnus lets out a breath. “I pictured a lot of things when I thought about my soulmate,” he says. “And after your name finally appeared, yes, I wondered how on earth it could possibly work. I tried to tell myself for a while that just because the last name was Lightwood, that didn’t mean it _had_ to be a Nephilim. I wondered how I would meet you, how I would get to know you, and yes, I did wonder if I would have to break through centuries of prejudice that would have built walls between us. I never thought it would be easy. That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.”

“You could have had anyone,” Alec repeats.

“But I have you,” Magnus says, reaching out and rubbing his thumb over Alec’s cheek. “Why would I want anyone when I have you?”

Alec stares at him for a moment, roughly a thousand thoughts and emotions struggling for dominance. The one that wins out is the impulse to grab Magnus by the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. He has no idea what he’s doing, but the instant his mouth touches Magnus’, it’s like the world blooms into full color. Magnus is warm and soft and so _close_ to him, and he kisses him with everything he’s worth. He might not be experienced, but Magnus is, so Alec follows his lead, tilting his head slightly and parting his lips.

When he pulls away, he’s out of breath, but Magnus chases his mouth, craning after his lips, and Alec forgets about needing oxygen. They kiss for several more long moments before he finally manages to tear himself away. He notices, not for the first time but perhaps most intensely, how _beautiful_ Magnus is. “Oh, fuck,” he mumbles. “I am so fucked.”

Magnus reaches out and takes both his hands. He looks Alec in the eye and says, with serene confidence, “You’re going to be fine, Alexander.”

Alec believes him. He can’t _not_. He has no idea how they’re going to handle any of this or what’s going to happen to him, and he doesn’t even care, because Magnus is smiling at him. “Okay.”

“Now, I should get you home,” Magnus says. “We’ll figure things out. And if you need me, just call me.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The next few weeks are a blur for Alec. He has to struggle to focus during field exercises, although at least he doesn’t have trouble during missions. All he can think about is getting back to his rooms at the end of the day, how Magnus will be there waiting for him. He always brings something to eat – he was horrified to hear about Alec’s stringent diet, and likes to bring delicacies – and looks gorgeous. He also always conjures up a sofa with just enough room for the two of them, then sits leaning against Alec or sometimes sprawled out across his lap. They talk about places he’s been and people he’s known. Alec sometimes talks about his family or his training, but not much. He just wants to enjoy this, the feeling of Magnus’ body against his, the warmth of him. Kissing is great, and they do a lot of it, but just holding Magnus is somehow even better.

Magnus often gets there before he does, since Alec’s schedule can vary if there’s a mission. Alec knows he should mind, but he doesn’t. Magnus can keep anyone from seeing he’s there, so really, what’s the big deal? The fact that the person he had been three months prior would have had a heart attack at his current attitude is something he puts out of his mind.

When he arrives after a rather grueling mission, soaked and exhausted, he sees Magnus sitting on his conjured sofa, and a white envelope on his desk. He frowns as he picks it up. “It was here when I got here,” Magnus says. “I didn’t bring it.”

“It’s from my mother,” Alec says, seeing her handwriting on the note inside.

Magnus frowns slightly. “She has access to your room?”

“Everyone has access to my room. No locks here. These are barracks.” Alec glances over at Magnus. “Why do you think I was always worried that someone might come in and find you here?”

“Point. I do apologize for that.” Magnus stands up and approaches him with a towel. “As much as I do enjoy the way your shirt is clinging to you, let me dry you off.”

“Oh, thanks,” Alec says. The towel is only a hand towel, so he’s not sure what Magnus intends to do with it, but as soon as Magnus drapes it over his head, a rush of warm air envelopes him. He’s almost instantly dry, leaving his hair looking like he’s been in a tornado. Magnus chuckles and smoothes it back down. Alec nearly forgets about the note from his mother as he gets involved in kissing Magnus hello. A few minutes later, he manages to tear himself away and open it. “Family dinner tomorrow night. I’m to dress nicely and be there at six sharp.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Magnus asks, seeing the crease on Alec’s forehead.

“Probably not. I would get summonses like this at the Academy, too.” Alec shrugs. “That’s just the way my mother is.”

“Any idea what it’s about?”

“Probably my birthday,” Alec replies. “I turn twenty next week, so I’m reaching the age of majority. There’s usually a celebration, and presumably that’s what she wants to talk about. Not that she cares,” he adds, “but she knows it’ll look odd if we don’t have the celebration, so she’ll put on the show. That or she’ll tell me to mess something up so egregiously that it won’t look odd if they don’t have it.”

Magnus grimaces. “Well, for your sake, I hope not.”

“I don’t care. I’m not big on parties.” Alec shrugs. “Or it could be something entirely different. She’s saying ‘dress nice’ which means there will be guests there. Which could be coincidence, or it could be that she wants me there to meet them. There are a lot of different things it could be.” He tosses the envelope aside and says, “Where were we?”

“Right about here,” Magnus murmurs, resting his hand on Alec’s chest in a way that makes him shiver.

By the time Alec pries himself away from Magnus, it’s late. He falls into bed, having practically forgotten about dinner the next day. The next day, he does his regular exercises, works on a few cases. He doesn’t get any missions, and wonders if his parents had talked to Starkweather about keeping him out of the field.

He puts on a button-down shirt and jacket along with some dress pants and heads over to his parents’ house. He doesn’t worry overmuch about his clothing because there’s a fifty-fifty chance that his mother will make him change anyway.

But she actually looks happy as she greets him, and says, “Alec, I have some amazing news!”

Alec’s heart leaps into his throat as he involuntarily pictures the possibilities. Has she decided to let him have the Institute after all? Is Izzy coming home?

Instead, she says, “I’ve found you a bride!”

At this, Alec can only blink at her. After a few moments, he manages, “A . . . bride?”

“Yes! Come sit down with me. We don’t have a lot of time.” Maryse takes him by the wrist and tugs him into the study, closing the door behind them. “They’re coming over for dinner, and you’ll never guess who it is.”

“That’s true, yeah,” Alec says, because he hasn’t got a clue.

Straightening his jacket, Maryse says, “It’s _Aline Penhallow_.”

Alec’s eyes go a little wide despite himself. “There’s no way one of the Penhallows would marry me,” he says, and he knows it’s true. The Penhallows are one of the most prestigious families in the Clave, and Aline is their oldest daughter. She could inherit the Beijing Institute from them, although he’s heard that her younger brother is favored because he’s a better strategist while she’s a better fighter.

“So what happened,” Maryse says, clearly bursting to gossip and probably the happiest Alec has seen her in years, if ever, “is that I had been keeping track of who was rumored to be negotiating with marriage with who. I thought that there was a small chance that, if someone’s daughter didn’t get a decent proposal, we might be able to work something out. And I thought it was very odd that Aline’s parents weren’t trying to find a husband for her.”

Alec opens his mouth to say something about how maybe Aline just wanted to focus on her career, then realize it’s pointless and closes his mouth.

“In any case, I invited Jia over for tea, and we got to talking about it, and I mentioned that I was having trouble finding a suitable partner for you. I suppose you know there are rumors about you – the others find you somewhat off-putting,” Maryse says, although she doesn’t sound like she has a problem with this. “In any case, I didn’t say _why_ you couldn’t find a bride, obviously, but Jia drew her own conclusions, and confided in me that Aline has been trying to convince her parents to let her marry _another woman_.”

Alec practically chokes on his saliva. “What?”

“Disgusting, I know,” Maryse says, and she doesn’t notice Alec’s flinch. “Apparently she has an unhealthy obsession with Helen Blackthorn. Her parents have been trying to rein her in, so I suggested – why not an arranged marriage? Put the two of you together – drive home that your social abnormalities would not be tolerated!” Maryse looks downright thrilled. “Isn’t it an amazing idea? I doubt a woman like that will mind if you keep your shirt on while you, er, do your duty. This is the solution we’ve been looking for!”

“Yeah,” Alec says, and tries to muster up some enthusiasm before his mother gets suspicious. “Yeah, this is incredible. Thanks, Mom. For – for still looking out for me.”

Maryse squeezes his shoulder and says, “Now, I want you to be dressed a little nicer – go up to our bedroom and get one of your father’s jackets and a tie. Okay?”

“Yeah, of course, sure,” Alec says, and practically stumbles out of the room. He has to take a minute for a few deep breaths once he’s in the privacy of his parents’ bedroom. But now that he’s over the shock, Maryse is right. This is a great move for him. He can bring prestige to his family, avoid a lot of unwanted questions, and maybe even find a confidante all at the same time.

It’s clear that Aline Penhallow doesn’t hold the same opinions. Whatever her parents told her about this proposal, she clearly hates it. She refuses to look at Alec or greet him, staring straight ahead with two spots of color burning in her cheeks. She looks embarrassed and furious and terrified all at the same time.

It’s customary to avoid business talk during the meal, and Maryse has gone all out in the little time she had to impress them, serving multiple courses and an expensive wine. They talk about trivial things, particularly about the younger children. Alec’s not good at small talk, so he stays fairly quiet except when asked a direct question. Aline says nothing for the entire meal.

“Well!” Maryse says, when the final course has been cleared. “Before dessert, perhaps we should talk about some details in the drawing room? Alec, Aline, you two can go out onto the porch and get to know each other a little better.”

“Sure,” Alec says, and gets to his feet. Aline says nothing, her mouth pursing, and she follows him without argument. Once the door to the house is closed behind them, Alec realizes he doesn’t really know what to say. “So, uh . . .”

“Don’t talk to me,” Aline says, her voice low and furious. “You are a repulsive excuse for a human being. I will never accept this, and I don’t care what you or anyone else does to me.”

Alec blinks at her, and asks a little more cautiously, “What exactly did your parents tell you about this?”

“That you’re going to ‘fix’ me,” Aline snarls at him. “I don’t need to be fixed. Whatever your idea of it would be, I’m sure that it’s abhorrent. And I will tell you right now that if you touch me, you’re going to wake up with my stele in your neck.”

“That’s, uh . . .” Alec clears his throat. “That sounds like how my mom might have presented the idea, yeah. But it’s not really . . .” He sees her glare become even more fierce, and for a second entertains the idea of telling her the truth. He doesn’t quite dare, but he knows he has to tell her something. A partial truth will do. “So I’m guessing they didn’t mention my boyfriend, then.”

Aline’s mouth opens, then shuts. “Your boyfriend?”

“Yeah. You know. Like, I guess Helen Blackthorn is your girlfriend? My mom told me, sorry. She doesn’t know I have a boyfriend, but she knows that I’m . . . like you.” Alec clears his throat. “Abnormal. I think that’s the nicest word she had for it.”

Now Aline is regarding him somewhat warily. “Then why are you going along with this?”

“Because this is perfect! They’ll never stop trying to force us to fit into their mold. How long before your parents really _do_ try to marry you off to someone who would try to ‘fix’ you? If we do this, then we – you could keep seeing Helen and I could keep seeing my boyfriend and nobody would be the wiser! We could adopt some kids, maybe, or figure something else out, I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far; I only found out about this today. But I think we could make this work. We could, could use each other as a shield against people who don’t understand.”

“Maybe,” Aline says, and her tone is still a bit guarded, but she doesn’t look like she’s about to murder him anymore. “I don’t know. I wish I could make my parents understand, that they would accept who I am. But I have to admit that I’m so tired of fighting them on it. And I do want to have a family someday, and I don’t know how I could do that with Helen.” She leans against the porch railing, closing her eyes. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

“I, uh, I can’t really tell you,” Alec says. “I’m sorry my mom outed Helen to me. And, you know, you. I don’t want to do the same thing to my boyfriend.”

For a minute, he thinks Aline might argue, but then she nods, accepting that. “I don’t know. I’d like to at least talk to Helen first.”

“Okay,” Alec says. “But, I mean, it’s not like our parents plan on giving us a choice. So why don’t we do this. You keep acting upset about it, and I’ll keep acting excited – my mother thinks I’m happy that I’ve found someone who she can strong-arm into marrying me and making me look normal. And we can talk about it more while they plan the details. I think we’ve got some time. You know they’ll want to go all out.”

“Of course,” Aline says, rolling her eyes. “But okay. I guess that’s a pretty good plan. But what if I decide I don’t want to marry you?”

Alec shrugs. “I’ll be disappointed, but I won’t force you. After that, you’ll have to take it up with your parents.”

“Sounds fair,” Aline says, and then lets out a breath. “Thank you, Alec. For – telling me all that. You could have just let me believe what my parents told me.”

“And woken up with a stele in my throat?” Alec snorts. “No thanks.”

They go back inside and endure an hour of talk about guest lists and flowers and other nonsense that Alec couldn’t care less about. After the Penhallows leave, Maryse lets some of the tension out of her shoulders. “That went well! We’ll make the announcement at your majority ceremony next weekend. Now you go home and get some sleep.”

She leans over and kisses his cheek, and he smiles at her and says, “Okay, Mom. I’ll see you later.”

It’s late when he gets home, and Magnus isn’t there, having known he might not be there. He crawls into bed and sleeps well, feeling like everything might actually be okay.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	6. Chapter 6

 

When Magnus arrives with dinner the next evening, he’s surprised to see that Alec is in a good mood. He had expected that his mother would have delivered another tongue-lashing that would have left him out of sorts. “You look like you’re feeling chipper,” Magnus says, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, actually,” Alec says.

“Your mother throwing you a big birthday bash?” Magnus asks.

“Uh, sort of,” Alec says. “Actually, she’s arranged a marriage for me.”

Magnus blinks. Out of all the things he had contemplated, that was not one of them. “A marriage. Well, that’s. That’s something. Marriage is a wonderful institution. Not that I would know – ” He clears his throat. “And who is the lucky lady in question?”

“Aline Penhallow. She’s, actually, her family is really important. So this is a big deal for us.”

Magnus gives Alec a borderline incredulous look.

“Anyway, her parents found out she had a girlfriend, and they got really upset and decided to marry her off. And my mother volunteered me, because, you know, I can’t ever let a woman see me shirtless, so . . .”

“So you decided that the solution to this was to marry a lesbian.”

Alec seems marginally taken aback, like he doesn’t understand why Magnus isn’t thrilled by this development. “Well, actually, my mother decided it was the solution. But I think it’s a good one. I mean, you heard what she was saying that night she came to see me. That the fact that I couldn’t get married and have children was a lot of what was holding me back. It would make people ask questions we didn’t want them to ask. This – this could really set my future back on track.”

“Your future,” Magnus says, barely able to believe what he’s hearing. “Your future oppressing and torturing warlocks?”

“Of course not,” Alec says, scowling. “But this could put me in a position to make real change. Not, like, right this instant – but someday.”

Magnus takes a deep breath and forces himself to be calm, not to let his own bruised feelings take control. Alec might think he’s doing the right thing, but he’s not thinking about the emotional consequences. “Alec, is this really what you want? Are you thinking this through? Locking yourself into a marriage – there wouldn’t be any way out once you’re in it. How exactly do you intend on handling a relationship with me . . . if you even intend to have one?”

“Of course I intend to have one,” Alec says, startled.

“And had you thought about how I would feel about that?” Magnus asks. “How exactly do you see me fitting in, in this scenario? Coming to visit in the evening, never being able to go out in public with you? Do you plan on telling your wife-to-be about me? Would she be okay with you having a warlock on the side?”

“I don’t have every little detail in place yet, okay?” Alec asks, taking on a defensive tone. “What’s with you? I thought you’d be happy for me! I actually might get to have some of the things I’ve always dreamed of. That’s a _good_ thing.”

“Is it?” Magnus asks. “I hate to burst your bubble here, but I doubt this is going to go as well as you think. The first thing that goes wrong, your mother could pull the carpet out from underneath you. But let’s say she doesn’t. Let’s say this goes absolutely as well as you think it might. You get married, you get the Institute. We have some stolen moments with each other here and there. You start speaking out against prejudice against warlocks. Maybe you even manage to do that without immediately losing your position. You have children, live a long, happy life. Would you be satisfied with that?”

“Yes,” Alec says, holding his gaze.

“I wouldn’t be,” Magnus says. “I’m not going to be the ‘warlock on the side’. I’m not going to live sneaking around to visit you while you pretend I don’t exist. I can handle that in the short term while you figure out what you want out of life and you make a plan – but I’m not in it for that long game.”

Alec scowls at him. “I won’t apologize for being who I am.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” Magnus shoots back. “I just wish you would stop trying so hard to be who you’re not.”

He flings one hand out to the side, opening a portal. Ignores Alec saying, “C’mon, Magnus – ” as he steps through it. Clenches his fists down at his side and tries to ignore the dull ache in his chest as he heads for his liquor cabinet.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Alec spends the next eighteen hours fluctuating between being pissed at Magnus for not understand and guilty for upsetting him. He hates the latter more than he would have expected, which only makes him feel worse. How had he allowed himself to get so attached to Magnus? Why should the warlock’s feelings mean anything to him, especially when balanced against the idea of getting everything he’s ever dreamed of?

It’s practically torture to sit through another joint family dinner discussing details like the guest list, the venue, and the seating arrangements. Arranging something like a wedding in a society like the Clave is no small affair, and both families are trying to push it through as soon as possible. Alec gets the impression that both sides are worried that the other might change their mind.

“You look like hell,” Aline says, when they’re again sent out to the porch to spend some quality time together. “All that talk about flower symbolism must have worn you right out.”

“It’s not that.” Alec rubs his fingers against his temples. “Did you, uh, did you talk to Helen?”

“Yeah. She thinks it’s a good idea. I mean, she hates it,” Aline adds with a laugh, “but she agreed that it could work pretty well long-term.”

“Huh,” Alec says. He rubs a hand over the back of his hair and looks away. “I guess I thought she might be upset, because Ma – because my boyfriend was.”

Aline frowns slightly. “Upset? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Alec says automatically, and then sighs. “No, I guess I do. He thinks – I won’t be able to have a relationship with him if I’m married. At least, not the sort he’d like to have. Which – I’d like to have, if I’m going to be honest.” He folds his arms over his stomach, posture tense and defensive. “He just doesn’t get that it’s not possible. That having a, a secret relationship is more than we should even be hoping for.”

At this, Aline’s frown deepens. “How can he just . . . not get that?”

“He’s, uh. It’s different for him.” Alec clears his throat. “He’s not from a big family, like we are. There’s nowhere near as much pressure on him to be . . .”

“Perfect,” Aline says, when she sees that Alec is searching for the right word. “But does he really think you could go public? Doesn’t he realize that you would lose everything you’ve spent your whole life working for?”

“He does,” Alec says. “He just thinks a relationship, a _real_ relationship, is worth more than that.”

Aline’s quiet for a few moments. “What do you think?”

“I think – I think it’s not fair,” Alec blurts out. “It’s not fair that either way, I have to give up something that I want.”

“Yeah.” Aline sighs. “It’s totally unfair. I mean, why can’t they just let us love who we love? It shouldn’t be a big deal.”

Alec doesn’t say anything. Aline gets it, but she doesn’t _get_ it, she can’t, because she doesn’t know Magnus is a warlock. And if she knew that, she’d probably understand even _less_ , because how could Alec possibly love somebody like that? He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to focus. “It doesn’t matter. I just thought – maybe if Helen was upset, too, maybe we could – I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell I want.”

“I don’t think it matters what we want,” Aline says glumly. “At this point, we’d need a battalion of elite Nephilim warriors to stop our mothers.”

“Yeah,” Alec says with a sigh. It should make him feel better. He’s getting something he wants, and the fact that he’s losing something he wants can’t even be blamed on him. But he doesn’t. He just feels worse. That probably means something, although he’s not sure what. He wishes more than ever before that he had Izzy to talk to.

Even though it’s late, he heads down to the gym. He doubts Magnus will be visiting today, but just in case he does stop by, he leaves a note saying he’s gone to work out and clear his head. Hopefully that won’t get Magnus even more pissed off at him.

He takes his conflict and confusion out on the punching bag for a while, until he finally feels calm enough to think. Then he starts to stretch, easing out the strained muscles.

It’s a simple choice. Not an easy one, but a simple one. He can’t have both, so he has to decide which one he wants.

Except as soon as he thinks that, he remembers it’s nowhere near that simple. He can tell himself that he can marry Aline and have the life that he wants, but that’s a best case scenario and it’s honestly not at all likely. Even discounting his mother’s perpetual disappointment in him – certain to rear its ugly head at any moment – he still has to deal with the fact that that life involves oppressing Downworlders. If he’s not prepared to do that, wholeheartedly and without reservation, then it’s likely his career will be over not long after it begins. And if he marries Aline, he might bring her down with him.

It’s possible, he supposes, that he might be able to make real change in how the Clave treats Downworlders. But what are the odds? Nobody else seems to care or even _notice_ how awful it is. His soulmate mark might have made him wonder if warlocks are really that different – but it certainly didn’t affect his mother the same way. She seems perfectly content to continue to hate them. There are literal centuries of prejudice that he would have to fight, and the Clave would have no problem banishing him if he started to cause problems.

But what’s the alternative? If he is banished, or just leaves, what then? He’ll have Magnus, sure. The idea of having an actual relationship with Magnus instead of a few stolen hours here and there makes him nervous, but he can’t deny that he wants it. But that wouldn’t be his entire life. Without training, without missions, without demons to fight – what would he do? Who would he be? He’s spent his entire life building himself to be in that role. The thought of not being able to do it is – terrifying.

The only thing he’s sure of is that he hates the fact that Magnus is upset with him. He tosses and turns that night, despite the exercise. It takes far too much effort to drag himself through his weapons training the next day. He’s glad that he doesn’t get a mission.

The plus side of that is that he gets back to his room earlier than usual. He’s hoping Magnus is there, but he’s not. He hasn’t written anything in their book, either, so he hasn’t been there. Alec sighs and picks up the portal shard, hoping Magnus doesn’t ignore him.

Fortunately, he doesn’t. He steps through the portal looking beautiful and a little aloof, greeting Alec with, “Yes?”

Alec rubs a hand over the back of his head, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause, then Magnus says, “Continue.”

“I’m . . . really sorry?” Alec says, hoping that this is what Magnus is after.

“For?” Magnus prompts.

Alec sighs. “Look, I’m not good at apologies, okay? But I was a jerk. I didn’t think about how you would feel about me getting married. I just assumed that you would be happy because I was happy. I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that you, you’ve had totally different expectations about all of this and so you’re trying to figure out how we’re going to be together while I just keep trying to figure out how to have my cake and eat it too. It was cowardly and selfish.”

Magnus’ expression softens. He reaches out and takes Alec’s hands in his own. “I wouldn’t say it was either of those things. Insensitive, yes, but I think I’ll survive with no major scarring. And by the way, you’re great at apologies.”

“Thanks,” Alec says, ducking his head because he can feel a blush rising to his cheeks. He looks down at where Magnus is holding his hands. “I just don’t know what to do. Every option I come up with sucks. And maybe I got a little carried away with this whole marriage thing being a good idea because . . .”

His voice trails off. Magnus squeezes his hands. “Because?”

“Because I . . . I’ve never seen my mother look so happy about anything. God, she was just so – ” Alec pulls away from Magnus, swallowing hard to keep his composure. “I mean. The _Penhallows_. It’s a really big deal. I don’t know if there’s a, a comparison to somebody on your side of the fence I could make to help you understand, but this – this is a better marriage than she could have hoped for, even _before_ she found out about my mark. I just wanted . . .”

“You wanted to make her proud.” Magnus conjures up his sofa and sits down, then waves Alec over to sit next to him. “I do understand how you feel, at least in part. My mother and I . . . let’s just say that our relationship had an unhappy ending and leave it at that for now. There were definitely days where I would have given _anything_ to see her smile.”

Alec sinks onto the sofa, folding his arms over his stomach. “Magnus, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I want to marry Aline. I don’t know how I would get out of it if I decided I didn’t, and I don’t know how I would handle it if I decided I did.”

“I don’t think you should ever enter something as long-term and committed as a marriage – particularly one with magical binding – if you’re feeling at all ambivalent about it,” Magnus says.

“You just don’t want me to marry her.”

“That’s true, I don’t. But I would give that same advice to anyone, any time.”

Alec sighs. “No, you’re right. And you were right the other day, too, when you pointed out that I’ll probably lose my position if I speak out against the treatment of warlocks. And then I could drag Aline down with me, which wouldn’t be fair to her. So I guess I can’t marry her.”

“Well,” Magnus says, reaching out to rub his thumb over the back of Alec’s neck, “that’s one decision made, then.”

Alec manages a wan smile. “Is one enough for tonight?”

“I think it is.” Magnus leans in for a kiss, although he keeps it brief. “Now, I didn’t bring anything with me – how would you like to head back to my place for a bit? We can order some food and watch a movie.”

“Yeah, that, that sounds fun,” Alec says.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Alec knows that he doesn’t have a lot of time to figure out what he’s going to do. With both families trying to push the wedding through as quickly as possible, he’ll be married in two or three weeks at most. The fact that it’s going to take that long is mostly just because every high-ranking family in the Clave is invited, and they need time to clear their schedules.

Still, he’s got three days before the next meeting between the two families. He manages to put it out of his mind for a few hours, catching up on the work that he’s been slacking off on while he was distracted by the drama.

“Lightwood! Mission briefing in five!” Starkweather shouts as he walks past. Alec looks up and nods in response. A few minutes later, he’s in the briefing room with Starkweather and Blackwell, the latter of whom has his usual smirk. It’s a standard mission, tracking down a Ravener demon that killed two women the previous night. They know approximately where it’s going to be. The two of them suit up and head out.

The only good thing about Blackwell is that he doesn’t talk a lot, unlike Pangborn, who spends all his time bragging. They explore the back alleys and docks in silence, only exchanging an occasional comment about all the nothing they’re finding.

It takes several hours before they pick up its trail, and another hour to track it to its lair. They don’t even need to get too close. Alec can see it through a window from a fire escape across the alley, and he takes a moment to carefully aim –

And the Ravener on the roof lands directly on top of him, almost knocking him off the staircase. He manages to grab the railing and keep himself from falling the five stories, but it’s close. He hauls himself back up onto the platform and dispatches the Ravener with a quick swing of his blade. Then his gaze darts back to the window across from him. The Ravener he had been hunting is gone.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, jogging down the stairs. “Blackwell!” he shouts, over to where the man is down in the alley, guarding the exit. “It’s coming at you!”

Blackwell looks up, just as the Ravener bursts out of the door in the alley. Alec stops on the second floor platform, nocks an arrow, and lets fly. It hits the Ravener squarely in the back, and it dissolves in a shower of sparks just before it can reach Blackwell.

“Nice,” Blackwell says, as Alec relaxes some. “Drinks are on me.”

“Sounds good.” Alec jogs down the last flight of stairs. He’s just put his bow back in its holster when another door slams open and three more Raveners come boiling out. He grabs his blade and decapitates the first in one swing, but the second one jumps onto his back. He feels the claws dig in and manages to fling it off, but the poison takes effect instantly, making the world blur and sway in his vision. He fumbles for his stele as the third demon comes at him, only to find that it’s not in its usual holster. It’s such a surprise that he almost doesn’t manage to parry the next blow. He lops the demon’s arm off, and it goes staggering. In the brief seconds he has, he pats down his pockets in a frantic attempt to find his stele.

He senses the second demon behind him, and turns around, but the world swirls and does loops as he tries to fight it off. Something else hits him and he’s not sure of who it even is – is the third demon still fighting? Are there more? It has an arm locked around his throat and its claws are digging into his stomach. More poison courses through his system, and when it lets him go, he staggers. He catches himself on the staircase railing, but can barely stay on his feet. The world is fading in and out with the beat of his pulse.

Just before he passes out, he feels someone’s arms around him.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

“What on earth!” Catarina jolts to her feet as Magnus emerges from the portal into her house, with a bloody Alec draped over one shoulder. She’s already conjuring herself up some latex gloves as she rushes across the room. Magnus lays Alec down on the floor, gently smoothing his hair out of his face. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” Magnus says. “I just felt – he was in trouble. God, I shouldn’t have waited so long, but I didn’t want to interfere unless there was no other choice – ”

Catarina pulls Alec’s bloody shirt away from his abdomen, making him twitch and groan quietly. “Did you see what hit him?”

“Raveners,” Magnus says. “I have to make the antidote.”

“Use my lab, I should have everything you need,” Catarina says, and Magnus nods as he gets to his feet.

It takes about ten minutes to put the potion together. He’s worried, but not panicked. Catarina is an amazing healer, the best he knows, and although Alec’s injuries are serious, they aren’t fatal. By the time he gets back, Catarina has cleaned up the claw marks on Alec’s back and abdomen, and is slowly mending them.

“He was lucky,” she murmurs, as Magnus comes back in. “Half an inch deeper and they would have severed his abdominal artery. Then even I might not have been able to save him.”

Magnus nods a little. “Well, he is good at what he does, but four Raveners to one Nephilim seems a little unfair.” He looks down at the wounds, watching the edges knit together. “Here, let me get some of the potion in him.”

Catarina nods, leaning back while Magnus pulls Alec upright. He rouses slightly, patting at his hip and then his thigh. “What is it, darling, are you hurt there?” Magnus asks, potion momentarily forgotten.

“Need m’stele,” Alec mumbles. “Need to – healing rune – ”

“Ah. Don’t worry about that, you’re in good hands. Here, swallow this.” Magnus coaxes Alec into drinking the potion. By the time the last drop is gone, he’s relaxing into Magnus’ arms. It occurs to Magnus that the potion will only partially cure the venom – he’ll need several doses over the next few days – so if he can use a healing rune, that might be more expedient. “Now where was that stele?”

“Should be,” Alec says, gesturing vaguely at his thigh. Magnus finds the little holster easily enough, but it’s empty. “Couldn’ find it.”

Magnus frowns slightly, but Alec is already sliding back into unconsciousness. He helps him lie down, and lets Catarina get back to work. She sees the look on his face and says, “What is it?”

“Raveners have limited intelligence,” Magnus says. “They wouldn’t think to steal a Shadowhunter’s stele. Not only that, but I had wondered – I know they always take missions in pairs, but I didn’t see any other Shadowhunter nearby – in trouble or otherwise.”

“You think somebody wanted this to happen?” Catarina asks.

“It’s quite possible, given Clave politics and the general personalities of, well, every Shadowhunter but one.” Magnus smoothes Alec’s hair out of his face. “I’ll talk to him about it when he wakes up, though I imagine I’ll have to approach the issue carefully. Thank you, for taking care of him.”

“Of course,” Catarina says, and then smiles slightly. “It’s not exactly how I would have chosen to meet him, but, well. He _is_ as handsome as you said.”

Magnus laughs at that. “Indeed he is. Now let me get him home, so he can get some rest.”

Catarina nods. “Call me if you need me.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	7. Chapter 7

 

Alec is confused when he wakes up. The world is strangely blurry, and he’s so tired that he can barely move. His head and his joints ache, and he’s not sure where he is. The room he’s in is dim, which he’s grateful for since it feels like his skull is about to split open. He clears his throat and tries to rasp out, “Mom?”

“Alexander!” Magnus appears in the doorway, the exact opposite of Alec’s mother. He’s dressed in soft black pants and a silk shirt that’s not buttoned up, surprisingly devoid of jewelry and makeup. His hair looks damp and is lying flat rather than standing up in its usual spikes. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Alec says, wondering what Magnus is doing there. “Tired. What – what happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember? Here, drink this.” Magnus conjures up a mug with a wave of one hand and holds it to Alec’s lips. He sips obediently, and finds that the worst of the pain and fatigue immediately fades.

“I was fighting the Raveners.” Alec’s hand automatically goes to his stomach as he remembers the demon’s claws digging in. “I couldn’t find my stele, and . . .”

When his voice trails off, Magnus says, “I didn’t want to step in unless I had to, but you were just outnumbered. There were at least four of them that I saw.”

Alec tries to sit up, and pain spikes through his abdomen. He groans and presses a hand against it, but persists regardless. “I – I have to go. Have to get home. They’ll think I’m a deserter, that I – ”

“Darling, you are not going anywhere,” Magnus says, gently pushing him back against the bed. “Your injuries are severe, and you’re still healing. You will be staying right where you are.”

Alec stares at him as the horror of his current situation sets in. He doesn’t know, can’t know, what Blackwell has told the others. But he knows that not returning home after failing a mission is one of the worst things a Shadowhunter can do. And the worst part is, it’s already done. He has to have been unconscious for eight or ten hours at least. They might not know where he is, but they’ll know where he’s not. If he goes back, he’ll be tried for desertion and dereliction of duty. “I can’t – I can’t go back now. You know that, right? That I can never go back to the Institute.”

Magnus winces a little. “I wasn’t sure. I thought perhaps since nobody saw me – ”

“It doesn’t matter. I failed a mission. The only reason I wouldn’t be back by now is if I was dead. The – if I went back, I would bring shame on my entire family.” Alec slumps back against the pillows. “God, I feel like crap.”

“It’s the venom,” Magnus says, seeming glad to have something else to focus on. “It takes a couple days to get it all out of your system, even with the help of the potions.”

“What time is it? How long was I out?”

“It’s just after dawn, so not too long. Thus accounting for my indisposed state,” Magnus asks, gesturing to his face.

For the first time since waking up, Alec feels a little humor return to him. “Yeah, you look terrible,” he says, reaching out and tweaking a stray strand of Magnus’ hair. Magnus laughs, snagging Alec’s hand and pressing a kiss against his knuckles. Then he reaches out and caresses Alec’s face, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone. Alec sighs, turning his face into Magnus’ touch without thinking. “I just can’t believe this happened,” he murmurs. “How could I have fucked up so badly?”

“Alexander, you can’t be blaming this on yourself,” Magnus says. He appears to hesitate for a moment, then says, “So many things went wrong on this mission . . . it’s a little odd, don’t you think?”

Alec blinks at him, trying to parse what he’s saying. “It was definitely weird that my stele went missing. I can’t even figure out how that would have happened.”

“You had bad intelligence, too,” Magnus says. “Four or five Raveners where you had been told that there was one. And it’s worth mentioning that I don’t know where your partner was when you were being attacked, but he certainly wasn’t helping you.” Another moment of hesitation before he says, “Could he have taken your stele?”

“I guess so,” Alec says. “I mean . . . we were trekking around the alleys for an hour. He could have lifted it. It wasn’t like I needed it, and we all keep them in the same place. But I don’t know why he would have.”

“I don’t know either,” Magnus says, not offering any opinions or theories.

Alec closes his eyes, thinking he just needs a minute to puzzle this out. Answers evade his grasp, and when he opens them again, the sun is slanting across the floor. Magnus is still there, in the chair beside his bed, but his hair and makeup are done now. Alec tries to sit up and finds it’s a little easier.

“Careful,” Magnus says, but he doesn’t try to stop him. Alec looks down at the mess of healing wounds on his stomach. There’s new skin, shiny and pink, but the edges of them are still rough. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Both, yeah,” Alec says. He wonders what’s happening back at the Institute. What are the others thinking? Has Blackwell told them that he’s dead? What excuse did Blackwell give for abandoning his partner? Or did he not have to, if this was all prearranged? He can’t imagine why Blackwell would have deliberately led him into an ambush, and their intelligence had been supplied by Starkweather. What’s going on?

Magnus comes back with a bowl of soup and some water, and Alec sets to it hungrily despite all his questions. He thinks about his parents, about Max and his future, about Aline. “Hey, can we . . .” His voice trails off. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Magnus says. “What is it?”

“Just . . .” Alec clears his throat. “Remember what I was saying about bringing honor to the family name? The fact that it looks like I, I ran away – I can’t begin to tell you how awful that will be for them. That I look like a coward, a deserter. Could we – maybe – make it look like I was captured? Send a ransom request or something?”

Magnus’ eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t automatically reject the request. “Has that happened before?”

“Yeah, a few times. More intelligent demons, like Eidolon demons, will do it. The Clave has a policy of non-negotiation, so it wouldn’t come to anything. They might not even send a response.”

“It’s an interesting idea, but . . .” Magnus considers for a few moments. “I’m a little loath to make warlocks look even more like villains in the eyes of the Clave.”

“Okay, but we could say it was a demon sending it,” Alec says. “It’s not like we need to sign it with your real name.”

“True.” Magnus absently rubs his thumb over Alec’s wrist while he thinks. “We could use one of the seelie as a neutral courier. They can’t lie, but they have amazing powers of suggestion.”

Alec gives a snort of laughter. “Yeah. I just . . . I know it probably seems silly.”

“No, it doesn’t seem silly at all,” Magnus says, squeezing Alec’s forearm. “Of course you wouldn’t want to seem a deserter. Even if your society didn’t place so much value on bloodlines and families, nobody would want to be thought a coward. I’ll talk to some people, see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” Alec thinks, but doesn’t say, that this might open up an opportunity for him to go back home. He could ‘escape’ from his captors, return as a hero. He’s not sure whether or not he wants to do that, so he doesn’t bring it up. “I . . . I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Right now? Nothing. Rest. Heal.”

“No, but, I mean.” Alec swallows a bubble of panic. “But what am I supposed to _do_? I, I can’t just _not be a Shadowhunter_. It’s all I’ve ever done, all I’ve ever known. When we were talking about, about what to do, I would think that sometimes. That I wanted to be with you, like you wanted us to be, but then what would I do? Who would I be? I can’t – ”

“Alexander.” Magnus presses a finger over Alec’s mouth. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I know that this must be awful for you. But we’ll figure it out, together.”

After a few moments, Alec manages to let out a breath. “Yeah. I . . . yeah, okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Magnus leans down and gives him a soft kiss on the mouth. “Let’s take your mind off of it for a while, hm? You haven’t seen any Alfred Hitchcock yet, and you’re going to love his movies.”

“Okay.” Alec gives a hesitant smile, and Magnus rewards him with another kiss.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Magnus has to admit to some relief when Catarina and Ragnor arrive. He’s told them he’ll call them when Alec is ready for visitors, but he’s not really surprised that they ignored this directive. They’ve both been incredibly curious about Alec, hearing about him through Magnus’ description. “Here to check on the patient,” Catarina says, when it looks like Magnus might protest their entrance.

Instead, he just sighs. “Of course,” he says, standing back to let them in. Alec is sprawled on the sofa, and Magnus has been distracting him most of the day with the television. He looks up as they come in. “Alexander, these are my dear friends Catarina and Ragnor.” He glances at the two warlocks and adds, “I’ve told him all about you, so he’s forewarned.”

Ragnor laughs and Catarina gives a snort. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” she says to Alec.

“Yeah, thanks for, uh, for fixing me up,” Alec says, gesturing to his abdomen.

“No trouble at all,” Catarina says with a smile, settling into one of the armchairs. “And we brought dinner,” she adds, with a wave of her hand that produces a variety of take-out bags and boxes. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so we brought a variety.”

“Greek?” Magnus says hopefully, peering into one of the boxes.

“Yes, Greek,” Ragnor says, pointing to the correct bag.

“I’m not really that hungry,” Alec says.

“You don’t need to be hungry to eat baklava,” Magnus tells him, carrying the containers over to the sofa.

“Isn’t that a dessert?” Alec asks, frowning.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You shouldn’t eat dessert first.”

Ragnor chuckles. “You were right, Magnus. He’s adorable.”

Alec’s scowl deepens, but that only makes Ragnor laugh harder, and Magnus waves a piece of baklava at him before the situation can get worse. Alec reluctantly accepts it, then his eyes go wide. “Wow, this is . . . this is really good.”

“Told you,” Magnus says, unable to hide the smugness in his voice.

Catarina changes the subject, asking Alec how he’s feeling. Magnus starts telling them about their plan to send a courier to the Clave to demand a ransom for Alec, to clear his name. He’s relieved when they both immediately understand why Alec wants to do this, and neither of them say anything about why his name’s status shouldn’t be important to him after everything that’s happened. Catarina offers several suggestions of seelie they might be able to use as a courier.

“I was going to ask Meliorn,” Magnus says. “He owes me a favor from – you remember the thing with the time and the place?”

Alec frowns, but Catarina immediately nods and says, “Oh, of course.”

“We should go back to Belize someday,” Ragnor says thoughtfully.

Magnus laughs when he sees the perplexed look on Alec’s face. “I’m sorry, darling. When you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known these two, it can sound like we’re speaking in code to people who haven’t been around as long as we have.”

“No, it . . . it’s fine.” Alec manages a smile. “Even Nephilim who are close friends will have inside jokes and references. I actually got used to it in the Institute, where everyone had their own cliques and I wasn’t included.”

“Well, you’re included here,” Magnus says firmly, “so I nominate Ragnor, as the best story teller, to tell you about the time he got lost in Belize and nearly caused a war between the Winter and the Summer Court.”

Ragnor laughs and begins to regale the story with great enthusiasm. Alec listens with a half-smile that comes and goes, while Magnus holds his hand and feeds him baklava. He knows that good food and good company won’t fix all of Alec’s problems, but at least it seems to be making him feel better.

They debate back and forth over which demons might take a hostage, and eventually decide that vampires will work better. Magnus has several friends who are vampires, but even he has to admit that as a whole, they’re to be avoided. They’re also known to take hostages and can get addicted to Nephilim blood, so it isn’t at all far-fetched to think they might take a well-known Shadowhunter hostage for ransom.

Alec is asleep by the time Meliorn arrives and agrees to carry their message. “Do you want me to wait for a response?”

“No need,” Magnus says. “I frankly doubt we’ll even get one. If they’d like to send one, they can find a courier of their own.”

Meliorn nods and takes the scroll that Ragnor has written out before departing without another word. Magnus shakes his head a little and wonders when the Nephilim are going to join the twentieth century and get phones. He supposes he wouldn’t want to call them even if they did – the signal might be traced. Still, he makes a mental note to get Alec a phone, now that he’s going to be living in the real world.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he says, after Ragnor and Catarina have left. Alec mumbles something and doesn’t really wake, so Magnus uses his magic to scoop him up and move him to the bedroom. He checks on Alec’s injuries and sees that they’re healing well; they could have happened weeks ago. Then he changes into a pair of pajama pants and gets into bed. Alec half-wakes at that, sees Magnus, and nestles closer. Magnus runs his hand over Alec’s hair and the back of his neck, listening to him breathe as he sinks back into sleep.

He knows that Alec is hurting, and he hates that, but he can’t help but bask in the feeling of Alec next to him. The feeling of his _soulmate_ next to him, finally, where he belongs.

Alec must enjoy it, too, because he’s in a better temper when he wakes up the next morning. He doesn’t seem very interested in getting up, so they cuddle in bed for a little while. Even after they get up, Alec hovers near him, occasionally reaching out as if to reassure himself that Magnus is there. “Sorry,” he mumbles at one point, after Magnus nearly trips over him while making them some breakfast.

“Don’t be sorry,” Magnus says, reaching out to briefly run his hand down Alec’s arm. “I like being close to you.”

“It’s just . . .” Alec looks away, his cheeks flushed slightly pink. “It makes me feel better. I don’t even know how to describe it, how to make it make sense.”

“Would it help you to hear that there’s actually a scientific explanation?” Magnus asks, and Alec looks interested. “Nothing mystical, nothing unusual about you. It’s called skin hunger. Physical contact is something people need, something that helps regulate stress hormones. It’s been withheld from you for most of your life, so it makes sense that you would be craving it now that you’ve realized what it’s like.”

“Oh.” Alec seems to think this over for a minute, then says, “Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything else about it, but when Magnus is tending the eggs on the stove, Alec stands behind him, leaning over so his chest is pressed against Magnus’ back. They take their breakfast out to the balcony, sitting so their legs are touching, and as soon as they’re done eating, Alec pulls him over to the sofa. Magnus settles down in his lap and kisses him, a kiss that goes on for several long, lazy minutes.

They’re both somewhat annoyed when there’s a knock on the door. Magnus snaps his fingers to see who it is, and it’s Meliorn, so he waves the door open without getting up. “We’re busy,” he says.

“I see that,” Meliorn says, completely unperturbed. “The Clave called me to have me bring their reply. Apparently they feel this is part of the service I agreed to provide when I carried the original message. They were unimpressed with my explanation that it was not.”

“Sounds like them,” Magnus says with a snort. He’s felt Alec tense against him, and reaches out to quickly squeeze his wrist. “All right, let’s have it.”

Meliorn produces and hands over two white envelopes. Magnus frowns slightly at that, and Meliorn says, “Apparently your original message was received by both the Clave and the Lightwood family, and both of them chose to reply.”

“Ah,” Magnus says. Alec has made no move to take the envelopes or try to open them, so he opens the first. It’s from the Clave, and reads, as Alec has predicted, ‘The Clave does not negotiate for hostages.’ Magnus sets it aside and opens the second. He recognizes Maryse Lightwood’s handwriting from the previous notes she’s left Alec, and as soon as he sees what the missive says, he tries to turn it so Alec doesn’t see. But it’s too late. He can hear Alec’s sharp intake of breath as he reads the words. ‘House Lightwood has no son Alexander.’

“An odd reply,” Meliorn says, clearly not caring about whether or not they wanted his opinion, or wanted him to read the message at all. “Did it go to the wrong place?”

“Ah, no,” Magnus says, more concerned with Alec’s reaction than Meliorn’s puzzlement. “They’re just sending a message, that’s all.”

“Yes, that much I gathered,” Meliorn says, “but the standard reply could have done. This reply is almost cruelty just for the sake of cruelty . . .” Meliorn seems to finally notice the way Alec looks like he’s been kicked in the gut, and adds, “Although from Shadowhunters, I suppose that should not surprise me. I’ll consider my duty in this matter concluded, and the favor paid back.”

“Thank you,” Magnus says, to Meliorn’s already-retreating back. The seelie knight shuts the door after himself, and Magnus turns to Alec somewhat anxiously. “I guess ‘are you all right’ is an inane question.”

“Magnus, I can’t – ” Alec chokes back the reply, half-pushing Magnus out of his lap in his haste to get off the sofa. “I – I have to go, I can’t – ”

“Of course,” Magnus says quietly, because he knows that there’s nothing he can say or do that will help. He has to let Alec deal with this in his own way. That way, apparently, is to try to get away from it, or just get _away_. Magnus follows along at a respectable distance, mostly to keep him safe, but also to make sure nobody questions the fact that a distraught young man is wandering the streets of New York City without shoes.

After a good ten minutes, Alec slumps down onto a bench in a small park. He says nothing as Magnus walks over and sits down next to him. They sit in silence for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” Magnus finally says, feeling Alec’s pain in his own gut. “I know that doesn’t mean much, but I am.”

“I thought I was – ” Alec has to stop and take a deep breath. “Last night, this morning, I thought I was starting to handle it. You know, it’s awful, it’s – losing a lot of what I dreamed for all at once, but I had already been coming around to the fact that that was going to happen. And that maybe my dreams weren’t that great, anyway. But this – she could have just said nothing. Let the Clave handle it. Or sent the standard reply if she wanted to drive home the fact that she thought she was better off without me. But this – ” He chokes a little. “I don’t understand why she would want to hurt me so much.”

“I don’t, either,” Magnus says. “I think that it’s okay if we don’t understand. That’s not the sort of people we are. Cruelty for the sake of cruelty, as Meliorn put it, might always be beyond us. That’s not a bad thing, Alexander.”

“I know, I just – she’s my m-mother – ” Alec’s mouth tightens and he pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly holding back tears.

Magnus rubs his hand down Alec’s back. “I know,” he says quietly. He gives Alec another minute, then says, “Come on. Let’s try to take your mind off things. The world’s your oyster – we can go anywhere that you want.”

Alec takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Yeah, okay. Let’s, uh, let’s go somewhere nice. Somewhere, uh, somewhere tropical. People love that sort of thing so I’m going to assume that I’ll enjoy it, too.”

“Your wish is my command,” Magnus says, and kisses him for a long minute.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that canonically this is not where/who Jocelyn would be in this AU, but she worked so well in the role that I decided to go ahead and do it anyway. ^_^

 

Alec settles into a routine over the next few days. Magnus doesn’t seem to need a lot of sleep – he says it’s a warlock thing – so he’s always awake when Alec wakes up. But he never gets out of bed before Alec, always waiting for him to wake on his own. They have breakfast, and then Magnus takes him out somewhere. As depressed as Alec is over his situation in general, Magnus has a knack for finding the most beautiful, awe-inspiring places in the world. They see the Northern Lights, caves full of glowworms, aquamarine waters in the Mediterranean. He marvels at the bamboo forests in Kyoto and the spires of Bryce Canyon.

Once they’ve spent a few hours in whatever gorgeous place Magnus has chosen, they eat lunch and then go shopping. Magnus keeps insisting that he needs _things_ , that he should indulge himself with luxuries he hadn’t been encouraged or even allowed to have. Alec, with very little idea of what _things_ Magnus is talking about, generally allows Magnus to choose and buy these things for him. He gets new clothes (which he admits that he needed, since he had left all of his behind), new shoes (which he has to admit are a lot more comfortable than his old ones), and a copper bracelet that Magnus says looks good on his wrist. He buys books, even though Magnus has thousands, a travel mug for his coffee, a candle that smells like jasmine, a set of bookends made of amethyst that he thinks are utterly extravagant.

Buying him things clearly makes Magnus happy, and Alec knows he’s trying to make up for what he’s ‘done’ to Alec. He wishes Magnus wouldn’t, but he doesn’t know how to say that. Magnus overcompensating only makes him feel worse, because he knows that his mood is upsetting Magnus, and then he just ends up feeling guilty about feeling depressed.

So he tries to show enthusiasm about the various things Magnus wants to get him. He listens with interest when Magnus explains various activities they can spend their evening doing – a concert, a play, dancing, playing pool, walking through the park. He offers opinions on where to go for dinner and what sort of food he wants to try.

It’s not bad, precisely, it’s just _exhausting_. He knows that a part of that is Magnus trying to keep him busy, to distract him from what had happened. He knows that he’s led a structured life and that having too much time on his hands will drive him crazy. At the same time, he sort of wants to spend a day with Magnus on the sofa, in their pajamas, holding hands and just talking, like they had done before the Ravener attack. And compounding the problem is that he thinks he’s not a very good faker, and he has to shake himself out of moody silences, or apologize for snapping impatiently when Magnus is caught in the throes of fashion decisions.

The last thing he wants is to meet people, so he grimaces privately when Magnus says they’re going to have a visitor. But he doesn’t say anything about it, mostly because there’s not much he can say. A few hours later, there’s a knock on the door, and Magnus gets up to answer it. He greets the person at the door, then says, “Alec, I want you to meet Jocelyn Fairchild,” gesturing to the brunette woman who has come in behind him.

Alec frowns slightly. The name is familiar, but he can’t place it. “Nice to meet you,” he says, his tone guarded.

“Likewise,” Jocelyn says. She smiles and says, “I thought you might know my name. Magnus said you had read some accounts of the other Shadowhunters with warlock soulmates.”

Alec’s eyes go a little wide as he realizes why he recognized her name. He read her testimony to the Clave, about how she had tried to remove the mark. “Oh, uh, yeah. I didn’t remember it at first, but now I do.” He frowns and adds, “That was two hundred years ago, though. How are you still alive?”

“Perks of having a warlock soulmate,” Jocelyn explains. “They can impart some of their immortality onto us. Not enough to make us entirely immortal, but enough to dramatically slow down the aging process.” She sits down on the sofa and gestures for Alec to sit down, too, which he does somewhat warily. Magnus squeezes Alec’s shoulder and then departs, letting them have some privacy. “Magnus asked if I could come see you. I think he was hoping I could give you some perspective.”

“Meaning?” Alec asks.

Jocelyn leans forward with her elbows on her knees, her expression and tone earnest. “Alec, I’ve been where you are. I understand what you’re going through in a way that Magnus, as much as he loves you, never will. I know that you’re scared and confused and angry as all hell right now.”

“I’m not scared,” Alec snaps.

“Yes, you are,” Jocelyn says. “You are, and that’s okay. You’re scared because you have no idea what you’re going to do, who you’re going to be. Being a Shadowhunter is all you know. Of _course_ you’re scared.”

Alec looks away, his arms hugging at his stomach without his knowledge or permission. After a few moments of silence, he acknowledges that he won’t be able to convince her otherwise. “How did you do it?” he asks. “Just . . . leave everything you were behind you?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Jocelyn says. “But I wasn’t alone, and you aren’t, either.” A little smile touches her lips. “See, I was exiled before I met Luke – my soulmate. It was only a few days before demons found me, and a warlock rescued me. She wasn’t my soulmate, but she took me in, healed me, took care of me. I didn’t understand why she was doing it. Warlocks don’t care about people, right? Downworlder impulses, et cetera, et cetera. But she and I became very good friends, and I started to understand how much of what I had been taught was wrong. And it was only after that, that she agreed to introduce me to Luke.”

“Smart,” Alec says.

“Yeah. I really appreciate everything that she did for me. And of course, Luke is amazing. I love him so much. But yes, for a while I was just . . . at loose ends, I guess I would say. So I learned new things. There’s always new things to learn. You’ll find a new person to be. Try painting, learn how to cook, volunteer at an animal shelter. And if after all that, you still want to fight? You can still fight. The Downworld needs protecting, too.”

Alec thinks about that for a moment, and he feels some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. “Thanks.”

Jocelyn gives him a smile, then says, “You don’t look very comforted.”

“Well, it’s hardly the only thing bothering me,” Alec says, hunching up defensively again.

“Magnus told me about the response from your parents,” Jocelyn says. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel. I thought, you know, that if anyone would understand, it would be my family. But when I confided in my sister, she turned me in to the Clave.”

“That sucks,” Alec says.

Jocelyn nods. “You know, to us, we make this logical connection in our heads. We’re taught that warlocks are lesser beings. But when we find out that we have one as a soulmate, we think that maybe that isn’t actually true. Because if a warlock is meant to be our equal, our partner, then can they really be lesser? They can’t, right? They’re equals. But our families . . . they decide that we’re just lesser, too.”

Alec feels tears sting at his eyes at having it put so plainly. “It was stupid to hope for anything different, huh?”

“If it was, I’m just as stupid as you are,” Jocelyn says, squeezing his hands. “I know that there’s nothing I can say that will make it stop hurting. Just remember that you’re with people who love you now, for who you really are, people who will never leave you. And can I give you some advice on that matter, by the way?”

Alec looks at her somewhat suspiciously, knuckling tears out of his eyes. “Maybe.”

“I know that you’re upset. That it seems like the world is ending. And I want to stress that that’s okay. But you have to remember that this isn’t Magnus’ fault.”

“What?” Alec frowns. “Of course it’s not Magnus’ fault.”

“Great. I’m happy to hear that you know that. But Magnus doesn’t. Right now, he’s worried that you’re angry at him, that you resent him, that you wish you’d never met him. He upended your entire world, Alec. It would be easy for you to blame him for this.”

Alec sighs quietly. “I guess maybe I did a little, in the beginning. But I know that none of this is his fault, and I don’t want him thinking that, either.”

“Great. So tell him that. Show him that. Show him that you’re glad to be here, glad to be with him. I guarantee you, seeing him smile will help so much with the pain. It won’t make it go away. But it will help.”

After a moment, Alec nods. He hesitates a little, then says, “Could you maybe help me with some of that?”

Jocelyn smiles. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Magnus isn’t thrilled about the idea of leaving Alec, given the mood he’s been in lately, but Catarina insists that she needs his expertise. “Besides, Jocelyn’s here, she’ll keep him company,” she adds, and Magnus can’t help but agree. Alec seems genuinely glad to have met Jocelyn, having thanked Magnus for finding her after she had left the day before. He’s still moody and depressed, but Magnus can’t blame him for that. He feels bad, knowing that his own happiness at having Alec with him probably only makes Alec feel worse. He tries to hide it as much as he can.

Fortunately, Catarina’s errand only takes about an hour, and he’s able to get back home. He pulls up short in the front hall, smelling food, and finds that the table has been set and candles lit. The food is in Chinese take-out containers, and the wine is already poured. “What’s all this?” he asks, laughing.

“I, uh, I wanted to do something special for you,” Alec says, his face flushing faintly pink. “Jocelyn and Catarina helped me out.”

“Ah,” Magnus says, suddenly understanding why Catarina had needed his help with something he’s sure she’s done a hundred times before. He smiles at Alec’s blushing face and says, “Well, you didn’t need to, but I appreciate it very much, darling.”

“I just want you to know – ” Alec stops and takes a breath before letting it out, hands curling around the bottom of his shirt nervously. “Look, I’m a mess, okay? I know that. I’m angry and upset about a, a lot of what’s happened to me. But none of it is your fault. I know that, and I want you to _know_ that I know that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Magnus feels a little twist in his stomach, and forces the smile to stay on his face. “I know. It’s just that I feel bad. You’ve lost so much.”

“I didn’t lose anything worth having more than you,” Alec says firmly, meeting Magnus’ gaze. “I – ” He flushes even darker pink, but doesn’t look away. “I love you.”

Magnus reaches up, caressing Alec’s cheek. “I love you, too.”

“And I’m fucked up about what my mother did, but that doesn’t mean I’m not, not glad to be here, with you. I don’t wish I hadn’t met you or anything stupid like that. I think back to how things were before that and it was just – my life was not great, you know? And it wasn’t just because I had your name on my chest. That made it worse, sure, but it wasn’t just that. It didn’t matter if I was the best Shadowhunter since Jonathan Shadowhunter himself. I was never going to be good enough for my mother. I was going to spend my entire life trying to live up to her expectations and hating myself when I couldn’t. And this – ” He touches his chest. “Was like living waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yeah, a lot of what’s happened was awful, but now it’s _over_. I finally have the chance to, to be happy. I never had that before. I know that probably sounds strange, but I honestly just thought – happiness was for other people. It wasn’t something I could ever have or something I _deserved_. But now I realized that I can. I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life, but at least I have a _chance_ now, to be happy, really happy. Because of you.” He lets out a breath, fingers twisting at the hem of his shirt. “Okay, that’s the longest speech I’ve ever given in my life, say something.”

Instead of saying anything, Magnus leans in and presses his lips against Alec’s. He wraps his arms around Alec’s waist, kisses him with everything he’s worth. When he pulls away, Alec is out of breath. Magnus leans in and says, “You being happy is the most important thing in the world to me.”

Alec kisses him again for several long moments. When he pulls away, he looks a little dazed, lips swollen and pupils dilated and just fantastically gorgeous in every way. “I really wish I hadn’t bothered getting us dinner, because I have no interest in eating it right now.”

“Oh, no problem there – ” Magnus snaps his fingers and moves all the food into the refrigerator in a swirl of magic. He’s no sooner done this than Alec has leaned in for another kiss, his hands knotting in the back of Magnus’ shirt. Magnus slides his hands underneath the T-shirt that Alec is wearing, and Alec shivers and presses closer. It occurs to Magnus in a sudden moment of lucidity that he may want to slow things down. He manages to pull away. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Alec practically groans, saying, “Oh my God, Magnus, I am ready for all the things, please – ”

They fall into another series of kisses, each one more messy and eager than the last. “It’s just – I don’t want to go too fast – to rush you – ”

“Seriously, you have nothing to worry about,” Alec says, pulling away long enough to catch his breath. “I want this. I want _you_.”

Magnus has about a hundred things in his mind that he wants to say, but then they’re kissing again, and he forgets each and every one.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

When Magnus wakes up the next morning, he finds that he’s curled up with his face pressed into the crook of Alec’s neck. He sighs contently and nestles a little closer. Alec sleeps on his back, with his hands folded on his stomach like a toy soldier, something that Magnus finds ridiculously endearing. It’s also quite convenient because it means Magnus can treat him like an extra pillow without any trouble at all.

“Morning,” Alec says, his voice a little hoarse from sleep.

“Good morning,” Magnus replies, pressing a kiss into the side of Alec’s neck. He feels, more than sees, Alec smile in response. “Do you want to get up?”

“Not just yet.” Alec rolls onto his side so they’re facing, tucking one arm underneath his head. Magnus resituates himself so he can lean in and give Alec a brief, closed-mouth kiss. “Can I tell you something? Or ask you something?”

“Always.”

Alec still hesitates, which makes Magnus a little nervous despite himself. “All of this, I could deal with, my family disowning me, never being able to go home again, all of it . . . if it weren’t for my sister.”

Magnus reaches out and twines his fingers through Alec’s. “I know that losing her was hard on you.”

“Yeah. And just – if it was just that I would never see her again, I could deal with that, too, if I knew she was _okay_. But I don’t. And that’s what I hate more than anything else. I, I think of my sister trapped in that place, cut off from everyone, and I worry about her. Maybe she’s fine. There are things about being an Iron Sister that she probably loves. But I don’t _know_. And I can’t – can’t stop thinking about that.”

“Of course not.” Magnus reaches out and rubs his thumb over Alec’s cheek. “It makes perfect sense that you would worry about her.”

“I just don’t know what to do about it. There’s no way – even if I could go home, she’s still not there.”

“These Iron Sisters – do you know where they are?”

“Yeah, but there’s no way in. Trust me, Magnus, even with your help – the Citadel is one of the best guarded places in the entire world. The only way I’ll see her is if they allow her out. Honestly, that was one of the things that most excited me about the idea of getting married. I didn’t say it then because it was so selfish, but if I’d married Aline, Izzy would have been there.” Alec lets out a breath. “I didn’t expect to get married, so I always figured the next time I would see her would be when Max finally got married, or if one of the family died, Angel forbid. But it’s not like I can arrange either of those things. Except . . . no, that’s a stupid idea.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Magnus says. “And even if it is stupid, maybe it can be amended. What is it?”

“Well . . . earlier, when we brought up the idea of sending a ransom request to the Clave, I was thinking about how it would leave me the opportunity to go home. You know, say I had gotten away from my captors. I got over that when my mom sent her little love note, but – it’s still a possibility.”

Magnus is frowning. “You think your marriage to Aline might still go through?”

Alec gives a snort of laughter despite himself. “No. Not with the stain of possible desertion and dereliction of duty on my record. I’m sure the Penhallows have already found some other suitable candidate to force their daughter to marry – and if I read Aline right, she probably responded by making out with Helen in the Great Hall at the Beijing Institute. That aside,” he adds, waving a hand, “it’s actually stupider than that. See, if I go back, even if I try to say I escape, there’s still a really good possibility that they’d try me for desertion.”

“Well, that’s barbaric, but go on.”

“Yeah. But. If I have a trial, I’m allowed to choose my own advocate. I can choose anyone – I could even choose you, if you were stupid enough to set foot in an Institute full of Shadowhunters – and if it’s a Shadowhunter, they’re obligated to respond. Not to represent me in the trial – but at least to show up and hear my case and decide whether or not they’ll be my advocate.”

Magnus is nodding slowly. “So you could request your sister, and they would let her out of the Citadel to come see you.”

Alec looks at him somewhat suspiciously. “You’re not telling me what a stupid idea it is.”

“Oh, well, I don’t like it,” Magnus says, laughing, “but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work, which means it isn’t stupid.”

This makes Alec give him a tentative smile. “You think so?”

“I think, from everything you’ve described, that you’d absolutely end up on trial the day you set foot back in the Institute. And given how deeply entrenched the Nephilim are in tradition, they would grant you the meeting with your advocate as requested. I’m more worried that they’ll bypass trial and go straight to murder. Let’s not forget that the attack on the Raveners was not as simple as it seemed.”

“Yeah.” Alec frowns, biting at his lower lip in a way that’s frankly distracting. “I still don’t get that. The only thing I could come up with was that someone was angry about the marriage to Aline? But I don’t know that anyone would have cared enough to try to kill me over it.”

“You’re sure that nobody found out about the mark?” Magnus asks.

“Positive,” Alec says. “I’ve spent my life hiding it. Trust me, I would have known if someone had seen it. Even if they had, the punishment for that is banishment, not execution, and certainly not assassination.”

“Mm. It is definitely odd that they tried to have you killed in the field, rather than through official channels. Honestly, my first thought was that it might have been your mother, if you had refused to marry Aline. Get rid of you in a way that wouldn’t tarnish the family name.” He sees Alec flinch and hastily adds, “Ah, I’m sorry, darling. I shouldn’t be so cavalier about it. But if it helps at all, I don’t think it was her. Since you hadn’t told her or anybody else that you were having second thoughts about marrying Aline, she had no reason to do it.”

Alec nods, then sighs. “Yeah. I don’t know. And since we don’t know, we can’t really plan around it, so . . .”

“So if you do this, then I have one condition,” Magnus says, raising Alec’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss into his knuckles. “I will be with you every step of the way.”

“You can’t just come to the Institute,” Alec says, frowning.

“Why not? I’ve been there before.”

“Look, you’re great at what you do, but keeping people from seeing you or hearing you for a minute or two at a time if they happen to poke their heads into my room is one thing. Walking into a room full of Shadowhunters for an hour or two and counting on none of them to see through the glamour? That’s not a great plan.”

Magnus has to admit that he has a point. “All right, but I still don’t want you going in there alone. At the very least, I could use a spell that would let me see and hear what you were seeing and hearing. Then if it looked like you were going to get into trouble, I could come get you. Then once you’ve spoken to your sister, I could portal in to get you out of there.”

Alec slowly nods when Magnus is saying this. “I think that would work.”

Magnus leans in for another kiss. “You’re sure you want to risk it?”

“Yeah,” Alec says, without hesitation. “She’s my sister. I have to know that she’s okay.”

“All right, then.” Magnus sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “No time like the present. The longer it takes you to get back, the more variables might have changed before you get there. I’ll get started on the spell I’ll need to keep an eye on you – along with something else I’ve been working on.”

“What’s that?” Alec asks, looking at him curiously.

Magnus glances over his shoulder and gives him a wink. “It’s a surprise.”

“Fine, be that way,” Alec grumbles.

“Thank you, darling. I think I shall.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IZZY~~~

 

After some discussion, they decide that they don’t want Alec to look like he’s spent the last week in Magnus’ swanky Brooklyn loft. His injuries being healed is enough of a problem. They still don’t know if Blackwell had actually taken his stele, and if so, how many people knew that.

“So many unknowns,” Magnus murmurs, still feeling hesitant about the plan. Well, ‘hesitant’ isn’t really the right word. He hates the plan. He understands why Alec is doing it, and wants to support him in it. But he has to admit he has a strong feeling that this is going to go very, very badly.

“All right, how do I look?” Alec asks, coming back into the room. He’s dressed back in the torn, bloody clothes that Magnus had rescued him in.

“Delectable,” Magnus says with a wink, making Alec flush pink. “But to answer the question you’re really asking, I think you’ll do.”

Alec’s fingers hover nervously over his face. “You’re sure about the makeup? I’m afraid if I touch my face, it’ll come off.”

“Oh, no, darling, my makeup is much too high quality to come off the instant you touch it,” Magnus says. “And if you’re not at least a little pale, nobody will believe you’ve been held captive by vampires for a week.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Alec looks at himself critically in the mirror. “Okay. I guess I’m ready if you are.”

Magnus nods, reaching out and giving his hand a brief squeeze. “Do you know how to get back to the Institute?”

“Yeah, they don’t keep us under lock and key, you know,” Alec says. “Navigating New York City is actually something we get lessons on. You don’t want your Nephilim to end up in New Jersey when they go out on missions.”

Magnus laughs quietly. “Nobody ever wants to end up in New Jersey, to be honest. All right, then. I’ll stay here, where I can keep an eye on you in the comfort of my own home.”

“Sounds good.” Alec leans in for a kiss, takes a deep breath to steady himself, and then heads out the door. It’s just after noon. He wants to get there when everyone will be around and all relevant parties will be notified quickly. The sooner he gets it over with, the better, in his opinion. If he’s at the Institute more than twenty-four hours, it’ll be too long.

He doesn’t exactly want to make a grand entrance, but he’s aware that he’s going to anyway. Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares at him when he comes back in, arms folded over the bloodstained rips in his shirt. He glances around for someone superior to him and finds Pangborn, whose jaw is almost comically ajar. “Alec Lightwood, reporting for duty,” he says, as if this is completely normal.

“Lightwood, how in the _fuck_ ,” Pangborn says.

“I apologize for the delay,” Alec says. “It took a few days before the vampires thought I wasn’t strong enough to fight back, but I was able to fight free of them.” Seeing that everyone is too surprised by his return to process, he prompts, “I need to be debriefed?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. You sure as hell do.” Pangborn gets him by the elbow, which Alec thinks is unnecessary, and then tugs him across the room. Conversation starts to pick up behind him, as people recover from the shock of his return. Pangborn pulls him into the office that Maryse uses when she’s in residence – hardly ever – and Morgenstern more commonly occupies. He’s hoping like hell that Morgenstern’s there now, or able to get there quickly. He’s quietly terrified of the man sometimes, but he’s completely uninterested in facing his mother.

Pangborn leaves him there, and a few minutes later, the door opens and Morgenstern walks in with Starkweather behind him. Alec is ridiculously relieved at this, but draws himself up to attention and says, “Sir.”

“It’s the damnedest thing,” Morgenstern says, his tone casual, almost friendly, as he closes the door behind them. “You’re not the first Shadowhunter I’ve had to get rid of in the field, but you’re sure as hell the first to come back.”

“I – what?” Alec asks, feeling his stomach sink into his shoes. He half-turns to see Starkweather leaning against the door, arms folded over his chest. He realizes in that moment that he hadn’t really believed that someone had set him up to get killed. He had still wanted to believe that it was some strange sort of coincidence. “I’m not sure what you – ”

“Come on, Lightwood, keep up,” Morgenstern says. “Thought it was pretty obvious myself. I was pissed when you got away! Didn’t know how you had managed it. I’m starting to get an inkling, though. And now that you’re back, I can test my theory.”

“I won’t – ” Alec starts, but then Starkweather has him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. Alec struggles, but it doesn’t get him anywhere, as Morgenstern tugs his shirt open to reveal the soulmate mark.

“So a lot more things make sense now,” he says, stepping back, “but I still can’t figure out why you came back. You had to know it wouldn’t go well.”

“Fuck you,” Alec says, mostly because he can’t think of anything else to say.

Morgenstern chuckles. “You think you’re so damned clever, don’t you. How long did you hide that mark? No, don’t tell me – about six years, right?” He sees the look of surprise on Alec’s face and smirks. “I know your parents. And I know that they weren’t planning on having another kid. I was a little surprised when Max was born. Figured it was just an accident. Now I get that it wasn’t – that your mother found out about your mark and realized they needed a different heir. Still, I had no idea at the time. So that’s impressive – hiding it for six years.”

“What’s your point?” Alec asks, trying to calm the way his heart is beating hard in his chest. He hopes that Magnus holds to his promise not to pop into a room to get him when other Shadowhunters are there. If he shows up now, there’s far too good a chance that they’ll both be killed.

“I looked through your files,” Morgenstern says. “You’ve barely apprehended any warlocks the entire time you were in the field. Got a problem with it, I guess?”

“Everyone should have a problem with it,” Alec retorts. “Targeting innocent civilians is sick.”

“Innocent.” Morgenstern gives a snort. “Sure. You say that like we do it for no reason.”

“I know damned well that you torture them for information,” Alec snaps. “When was the last time you actually got any?”

Morgenstern smirks at him.

“Oh,” Alec says, feeling like he was punched in the gut. “Oh, fuck.”

“Now he gets it,” Morgenstern says to Starkweather, who laughs. “Yeah, I had no idea that somebody had tipped off the warlocks about the raid on the Brooklyn Academy. Thought we’d just had bad luck. Then this bitch that Raj brought in told me about how they’d been forewarned.”

“How’d you know it was me?” Alec asks.

“Come on, Lightwood. Who the hell else would it have been? You’d already let one warlock go. You’d already raised questions about attacking the Academy. Obviously it was you.”

Alec folds his arms over his stomach, trying to think. Morgenstern is answering his questions, clearly enjoying watching him squirm. He decides to risk another. “Okay, but why the covert field assassination? Why didn’t you just turn me into the Clave and have me tried for treason and executed?”

“Because as much fun as humiliating Maryse Lightwood would have been, I decided a long time ago that it isn’t worth risking a trial for you bleeding hearts.” Morgenstern shakes his head. “Have you get up in front of the Clave and cry foul about how we treat the warlocks, about how children should be off limits, how we’re turning into the monsters we hunt. I’ve heard every damned speech, Lightwood. I don’t care what you think. But the last thing I need is you infecting somebody who actually _matters_ with your bullshit empathy, and having them come down here to tell me how to do my job. It’s so much easier to just have you ambushed by demons in the field. You get to die a hero, I get a problem out of the way, hey – everyone’s a winner.”

“Except the Downworlders,” Alec says between gritted teeth.

“I’m talking about _people_ ,” Morgenstern scoffs. “But now you’ve gone and fucked that all up. You came back. I can’t just have you killed because you’ve made way too big a splash, and even if I send you out into the field and kill you there, it’ll still look suspicious. So now I have to put you on trial, and I’m probably going to spend the next six months dealing with the fallout. You’re a real pain in my ass, Lightwood.”

“Then at least I’ve accomplished something I can be proud of today,” Alec retorts.

Morgenstern shakes his head, then gestures to Starkweather. “Get him out of my face.”

Alec holds firm as Starkweather takes his wrist. “What about my advocate?”

“Nobody’s gonna advocate for a traitor, you piece of shit.”

“Your opinion of my crimes is irrelevant,” Alec says. “Clave law states that I can request anyone as an advocate and they are bound by that law to meet with me and decide whether or not they’re willing to represent me. So I designate Isabelle Lightwood as my advocate.”

Morgenstern rolls his eyes. “Making us all wait while we get your sister from the Citadel isn’t going to help you, Lightwood.”

“I’m still allowed to do it, and you’re still required to comply.”

“Sure, kid. Whatever makes you feel better.” Morgenstern waves them away again. Alec allows himself to let out the breath he had been holding as Starkweather drags him out of the room. He’s gotten his request in. He’ll get to see Izzy. After that, none of the rest of this matters.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It feels like a long wait, but considering that they have to get Izzy from the Citadel, it really isn’t. A few hours, long enough for him to get hungry and wonder if they plan to bring him dinner, but not so long that he thinks night has fallen. His parents must know he’s here by now. He wonders what they think of his return, but decides he’s better off not knowing.

As he sits there in the cell, he can’t help but think of the warlocks that have been imprisoned in it. It’s small, maybe five by ten feet, with nothing but a narrow cot and a toilet with no privacy in effect. There are hooks and rings on the wall that they can be chained to, although nobody bothered to chain him. The wall facing the hallway is a set of bars made of wrought iron, allowing the Nephilim to interrogate the prisoner without going into the cell.

The door, it turns out, squeaks horribly. It screams like a dying animal when a guard swings it open for Izzy to go in. Alec jolts to his feet when she appears. She’s changed a lot in five years. She’s a couple inches taller, and her body is lithe and toned from her work. Her dark hair is even longer than it used to be, done back in a simple braid. She’s wearing the uniform robes of the Iron Sisters, and her face has a pinched expression that’s uncomfortably reminiscent of their mother.

“You’ve been accused of _treason_?” Izzy’s first words to him in five years are. “And you called me to represent you? What the actual hell, Alec – ”

Her sentence is cut off when Alec pulls her into an embrace, hugging her so tightly that he squeezes the air out of her. He buries his face in her hair and just clings to her for a long moment. After a second, she hugs him back, one hand patting his back like he’s a child. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” he chokes out. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asks, but her voice is gentler.

“I just – I didn’t know, couldn’t know. I’ve heard things about the Citadel and I, I pictured you locked in a room being fed bread and water, or, or not allowed to talk to anyone, I pictured them smothering all the joy out of you and I – ”

His voice breaks again, and Izzy hugs him harder for a moment before releasing him and saying, “Alec, please tell me that you didn’t commit treason just to get me an afternoon pass out of the Citadel.”

At this, Alec manages a wan smile. “No, I, uh, I did actually commit treason entirely independent of that. That’s kind of a long story, though. I won’t make you actually advocate for me at trial if you don’t want to. I just wanted to see you. To see that you’re okay.”

Izzy reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “There are things about the Citadel that I really, really hate,” she admits. “It’s lonely. A lot of the older women don’t like me, because they don’t think I’m appropriately respectful. I can see why you’d worry. But I’m okay, Alec. I love the work, and I think it’s important. I just wish I could see you more often.”

Alec manages to take a deep breath, then says, “Me too. I, uh, I have a lot to tell you. If you want to hear anything I have to say.”

“Well, yeah, obviously I need to hear about how you got yourself into this mess.”

It amuses Alec that she’s referring to ‘on trial for treason and facing execution’ as a ‘mess’, like he’s a sixteen-year-old who got caught breaking curfew. “Okay, uh. You might never want to see me again after this, but I’ll tell you everything. Just . . . here goes.” He takes another deep breath and then tugs the collar of his shirt down to show her Magnus’ name.

Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God! You have a soulmate? You have a soulmate!” Her voice is excited, not at all angry or accusatory. “Have you met him? What’s he like? It is a he, right? Magnus is a guy’s name but I don’t want to assume. What’s having a soulmate like?”

Alec hugs her again. It’s involuntary, really; he’s so happy that he just finds himself holding onto her as hard as he can. She hugs him back, and after a moment he manages to let go. She gives him a questioning look, and he says, “He’s incredible. You would love him, Izzy. He’s beautiful and powerful and brave, and he’s also so patient and kind and loving. He’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I’m so, so lucky to have him.”

Izzy tugs him over to the cell’s narrow bench and sits them both down. “Tell me everything,” she says. “Every last detail. Spill.”

He nods and smiles, and starts at the beginning. He tells her about seeing the mark on his chest, about how he researched how to remove it, about their mother’s reaction. He tells her about how he struggled at the Academy and how Maryse tried to convince him that he had no future, about how he felt like them sending Izzy away was a warning to him. He tells her about his first missions and the warlocks he had captured, and he sees her reaction start with shock and then change to fury. He tells her about meeting Magnus and getting to know him, while at the same time his doubts about what the Nephilim were doing deepened. He tells her about how he had committed treason by warning Magnus about the academy attack and how he’s not even a little bit sorry, how if he could go back in time and do it again, he wouldn’t change a thing. He tells her about Aline, about the Raveners, about Catarina and Ragnor and Jocelyn, and finally about Valentine Morgenstern.

Once he’s done telling the story, she sits in silence for several long moments, thinking everything over. “They’ll kill you,” she finally says. “Even if I advocate for you, there’s no way to get around what you did.”

“I know. But Magnus won’t let them – he’ll come get me before it ever goes to trial. I never planned on having you actually represent me – just asking for you, to get you out of the Citadel so I could explain everything to you.”

“Okay.” Izzy chews on her lower lip, then shakes her head. “I can’t go back there.”

“You don’t have to give up your life for me, Izzy. You shouldn’t.”

“It’s not for you,” Izzy says. “Look, I loved my work, okay? I loved making weapons and knowing that those weapons went on to kill demons and protect innocent people. How can I go back and keep making weapons, knowing that they’ll be used to _hurt_ innocents? I can’t do that, Alec. I can’t and I won’t.”

There’s a part of Alec that wants to try to convince her otherwise, but how can he? In her shoes, he would do exactly the same thing – that’s basically what he did. She has a right to make that choice, just as he did. “Then we should get out of here before they figure out we’re planning on leaving.”

Izzy nods, and a moment later, a portal opens in the room next to them. Izzy yelps, startled, and Alec squeezes her hand. The room is so small that there’s barely room for Magnus to step out of it, but he still somehow manages to make a grand entrance. “Isabelle, how lovely to meet you,” he says. “Alec talks about you all the time.”

“How did you do that?” Izzy asks, staring at the portal. “I thought a warlock could only portal to a place they’ve – ”

She’s interrupted when the door swings open again. Magnus half-turns, but he doesn’t have time to get back through the portal before the tip of Morgenstern’s shock stick hits him. His body goes rigid and then collapses to the ground. Alec is on his feet, but before he can do anything, Starkweather has him shoved up against the wall with his arms pinned behind his back. He struggles furiously as Morgenstern puts the manacles on Magnus and secures them to the wall.

“Knew he’d show up eventually,” he says, with the same jovial tone as ever. “Thanks for saving us the trouble of going to look for him.”

Magnus shakes his head a little, trying to clear his head, and slurs out an obscenity.

“Miss Lightwood!” Morgenstern says. “I think your parents are probably looking for you. They had quite a bit to say about the fact that you were even willing to meet with this scum you call your brother. And now I hear that you were willing not just to defend him, but run away with him to live with these creatures?”

Izzy draws herself up to her full height and says, “Obviously I had to say that to get him to show his hand, you cretin. The warlock wasn’t going to come here if I didn’t look sympathetic.”

Morgenstern looks amused. “You’re the Iron Sisters’ problem, not mine, so don’t bother lying. Blackwell, take her back to the Lightwood residence. Make sure she gets there . . . safely.”

“If you fucking touch her,” Alec says, struggling harder, and the men just give unsettling laughs.

“Now what to do with you?” Morgenstern says, as Izzy departs, with a quick glance over her shoulder. “I still can’t just kill you without people asking some uncomfortable questions. You, however . . .” He turns to Magnus, who’s only just managing to sit up, and holds his seraph blade out. “You can be dispatched here and now.”

“Wait,” Alec coughs, as Starkweather pushes his face into the wall. “I designate him as my advocate.”

Morgenstern half-lowers the blade and turns to give Alec an incredulous look. “You’re saying that you want a warlock to represent you in your trial . . . for treason . . . for helping the warlocks?”

“Yes,” Alec grits out. “I’m allowed to choose anyone as my advocate, and I choose him. Clave law states – ”

“I know what Clave law states, infant,” Morgenstern says, his voice dripping scorn. But he lowers the blade the rest of the way and takes a step back, looking at the two of them contemplatively. “But you know what, this might be a good idea. It’ll give the warlock and I more time to get to know each other. Maybe have a little chat about what other Downworlders are living in New York City, what kind of protections they have.” He gestures with the blade and says, “Pangborn, strip him. The usual precautions.”

“How nostalgic,” Magnus mutters, and Alec chokes out a laugh despite himself. “But no thank you. I’ll do it myself.” He jerks at one of his jacket sleeves, only to hiss in frustration when he can’t get it off due to the manacles.

“Stay still, filth,” Pangborn says with a sneer, wielding a knife as long as his forearm. It’s clear that Magnus wants to argue, but then he sees the knife and decides that discretion is the better part of valor. He stays still while Pangborn cuts his shirt and jacket off.

“I got that in Milan, you philistine,” he says.

“Bill me,” Morgenstern says, amused. Magnus slaps Pangborn’s hands away when he reaches for Magnus’ belt, and undresses the rest of the way himself. While he’s doing that, Starkweather grabs Alec and drags him to the other end of the cell, securing him in his own set of the handcuffs and chaining them to the wall.

When all of that is done, Morgenstern steps back to survey the situation, and gives a nod of satisfaction. “All right, then. I’ll see you two bright and early tomorrow morning for your trial.”

Alec flips him off, and he’s far more concerned with Magnus as Morgenstern and his posse file out. The dungeon isn’t exactly warm, and he’s shivering slightly as the door closes behind them. “God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay, did they hurt you?”

“That shock stung like a bitch,” Magnus says, “but I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, until they execute me and then torture you to death.”

Magnus shrugs and says, “One problem at a time, darling.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	10. Chapter 10

 

“How can you be so calm about this?” Alec asks, staring at Magnus across the cell.

“Well, as it happens – ” Magnus starts, but then there’s the clack of shoes against the dungeon floor. Both he and Alec look up, and Magnus grimaces slightly as Maryse Lightwood marches into view with Robert behind her, and draws his knees up to his chest to hide his essentials.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Maryse immediately snaps. “How could you do this to us? Bad enough that you had to come back here, but to drag your sister into this, too? To, to insist on having a _trial_? You came back knowing you were guilty, but you couldn’t just plead guilty and – ”

“And what, be executed?” Alec asks.

“Yes!” Maryse shouts. “Die with honor, instead of dragging our entire family name through the mud! Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. You’re going to get up in front of the Clave and talk about how warlocks aren’t as bad as they seem, make it _thoroughly_ clear that you’ve been corrupted by this filth – although I suppose that gives you credit for being honorable to start with, which I’m beginning to doubt – ”

Alec flinches.

“You’re going to humiliate all of us by trying to justify _treason_ , as if such a thing is possible, put your disloyalty and your arrogance on display for everyone in the Clave to see, and make your father and I into laughingstocks – as if you hadn’t _already_ done that when you deserted – ”

“Enough!” Magnus shouts, his voice cutting through the room. “For God’s sake! I have tried to stay out of these arguments, to let Alec make his own decisions and handle things his own way, but I can’t continue watching this.”

“You can stay out of – ” Maryse begins.

Magnus makes a sharp gesture, resulting in a bright blue spark that smacks Maryse right in the open mouth. She gapes at him somewhat comically as she continues to try to speak and realizes she can’t. “You’ve said enough,” Magnus says, calmer now, his voice cold. “What is _wrong_ with you? This man is your son. He is your flesh and blood. Do you know what most warlocks would give for the ability to have a child we could call our own? You’re lucky enough to have them, and you treat them like this. It boggles my mind. And yet you call us the monsters.”

Robert clears his throat, but falls instantly silent when Magnus cuts a gaze his way.

“Alec has spent every day of his entire life working as hard as he could to make you proud,” Magnus continues. “He’s never wanted anything else. Yet this is how you treat him. And I’ve done my best to respect his wishes and not interfere. But I’m done watching you treat the man I love like something you scraped off the bottom of your shoe. It stops now.”

“What . . .” Robert clears his throat again. “What exactly do you intend to do?”

“I intend to tell the Clave that Alec is innocent of treason, because protecting children from capture and torture is no crime, regardless of who those children’s parents are. I intend to tell them that Alec should be able to continue to do what he does best: fight demons and protect innocent people. There’s no _rational_ reason why he would be unable to do so. I intend to tell them that Valentine Morgenstern is a rabid animal who should be put down at the nearest opportunity.”

“You’re delusional,” Robert says. “None of that will happen. You have to know that.”

“If they don’t listen, then they don’t listen,” Magnus says. “Either way, we’re done dealing with the two of you. I will take this fight to the highest level of the Clave and dare them to tell me that Alec isn’t good enough.” He pauses, then turns slightly and says to Alec, “If that’s what you want. It is, as always, up to you.”

Alec has been watching this in silence, and at this, a smile finally cracks his face. “Sure,” he says. “What the hell. But you’d better take that spell off my mother before she explodes.”

“Must I?” Magnus murmurs, but Maryse _is_ turning a rather alarming shade of red. He waves at her, another little rush of magic leaving his fingers.

“I will _not_ allow – ” Maryse begins, but then sees Magnus’ fingers twitch like he’s about to put the spell right back on. She stops and takes a deep breath, clearly struggling for control of her temper. “Alec, please tell me that you understand why you can’t do this. Our family – the position is precarious enough as it is. The fact that you’re a warlock’s soulmate – they’re already talking about how they’ll need to periodically check Max for the same thing, how they’ll have to make sure he doesn’t have any of the wrong . . . values. Don’t you understand what that means? Max will need to excel, no, to _over_ perform, in everything he does, if we want to keep this Institute. The Lightwood name is already being dragged through the dirt. Don’t you care about that?”

Alec has to take a deep breath of his own before he manages to speak. “I don’t see why I should,” he says, and looks Maryse right in the eye. “After all, House Lightwood has no son Alexander.”

Maryse’s mouth tightens. “You know why I had to say that.”

“Yes, I do. You wanted it to be clear to me that I should never come back. There was no reason why the standard message wouldn’t have sufficed to send that message. You were being deliberately cruel just to hurt me. It worked, so congratulations. And thank you. Because it helped me finally see what kind of person you really are. It helped me realize that fighting for your approval was a battle I was never going to win, and that there was no shame in conceding defeat. I can’t win the heart of someone who doesn’t have a heart. So I came back here for Izzy. Not for either of you. And certainly not for the family name.”

Maryse turns on one heel and storms away. Robert grimaces a little and follows, calling out her name as he goes. A few moments later, the dungeon is silent.

“Hey, wait a second,” Alec says, frowning. “How can you be doing magic? You’ve got those bracelets on.”

“Ah, I ruined my own surprise!” Magnus says, laughing. He waves a hand, undoing the chains that hold him to the wall and getting to his feet, then conjuring himself up a blanket to wrap himself in. Alec watches with his jaw slightly ajar. “It was meant to be an ace-in-the-hole. I hope your mother is too upset and flustered to notice that I shouldn’t have been able to do what I did.”

“Which you did how, exactly?” Alec asks.

Magnus undoes the clasp of the bracelet and it falls off easily, making Alec’s frown deepen. “You remember my first time here, when you took a set of these off me? Well, I took them with me, and I have been working for the last couple months on finding a way to keep them from working. It actually turned out to be rather simple. The bracelets require skin contact to work – that’s what allows them to bind to the warlock in question, and prevent them from using magic. So if a warlock was to keep that from happening, say by wearing a leather armband and then using a glamour to prevent the Nephilim from noticing it . . .” He waves a hand to reveal the piece of leather already wrapped around his wrist. “Then the bracelets are nothing more than fancy jewelry.”

“That’s amazing,” Alec says. “I mean, we should tell every warlock you know about this.”

“Oh, I’ve already done that,” Magnus says, laughing. “It’s a shame we won’t be here to see all the Shadowhunters so confused about how their warlock prisoners are escaping the moment nobody’s looking. That’s going to be hilarious, honestly.”

Alec gives a snort. “Yeah. Yeah, it will be. Morgenstern is gonna be pissed and it’s gonna be awesome.”

Magnus reaches out and caresses Alec’s cheek. “If you still want to have the trial tomorrow, we can. I have no intention of letting them execute you when all is said and done. If you want to get up and make your case, speak up about why you did what you did, then I am behind you one hundred percent.”

Alec lets out a slow breath, and then nods. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The crowd in the gallery is a lot larger than Alec had thought it would be, and he flinches despite himself as he’s marched past them. They’re silent except for a few murmurs, staring at him judgmentally. He scans the crowd for his parents and doesn’t see them, but he does see Izzy, hands knotted together in front of herself, knuckles white.

Magnus walks past everyone with his head held high, clearly not caring a whit for their looks of disgust. He’s dressed in an old, discarded robe that was probably from one of the Silent Brothers, but he wears it like a three piece suit at a gala. They’re both still wearing handcuffs, and Alec has to try not to stare at the ones Magnus is wearing, knowing he can just take them off whenever he wants.

He’s doing this voluntarily, and he reminds himself of that at least four times as he walks into the room and is seated. They can leave at any time. This is something he wants to do, to get up and say his piece, and then they’ll be done.

Morgenstern is standing at the prosecution’s desk, and he sneers at Alec and Magnus as they’re seated. Imogen Herondale is behind the bench, looking severe and sour. “Alexander Lightwood,” she snaps, as the court is called to order. “You stand accused of treason and conspiracy. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Alec says, privately amused at how ridiculous that is.

Morgenstern stands up and addresses the room, talking about the wonderful opportunity that they’d had to capture Downworlders at the Brooklyn Academy, how it had been ruined by Alec’s treachery, and how he had found out that Alec was responsible. Alec stares straight ahead and keeps a neutral expression on his face.

When Morgenstern is finished, with a smug look at Alec, Magnus stands up. “Treason,” he says, his voice beautifully calm and measured, “is the act of assisting one’s enemies in a time of war. I would like to ask the court why it considers children their enemies.”

Herondale gives him an icy look. “No one is asking your opinion on our tactics, warlock. If your only argument is that what Lightwood did is not treason because you don’t think it fits the definition, the defense can rest and we’ll move on.”

Magnus’ mouth tightens slightly, but he doesn’t argue. “Mr. Lightwood, please take the stand,” he says. Alec gets up and puts his hands on the Soul Sword, taking a few deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. “Did you pass along information to the Downworlder community to warn them about an impending attack on the Brooklyn Academy?”

“Yes, I did,” Alec says, and there’s a low gasp and then a few titters from the assembly.

“Why?”

“Because the attack violated the Accords.”

Morgenstern jolts to his feet. “The Accords? What kind of bullshit excuse – ”

Herondale, for her part, is frowning. “Elaborate,” she says to Alec.

“The Accords clearly states that children are noncombatants and that any attack specifically targeting them would be in violation of the treaty,” Alec says. “I asked Morgenstern if we should specifically target the adults and he said no. Therefore, the attack violated the Accords.”

“Nobody cares about the Accords anymore, Lightwood,” Morgenstern sneers. “They’re a relic, an antique. They’ve been obsolete for two centuries.”

“Then why are we still taught them in school?” Alec asks. “It happens that I took a number of non-combat oriented classes. We went over the Accords in detail.”

“In your _history_ class, I bet,” Morgenstern retorts.

“That’s true,” Alec says, “but irrelevant. The Accords were never officially dissolved, and we are still bound to obey them. Therefore, any attack that violates them is against Clave law.”

Morgenstern is clearly speechless, and Magnus is trying hard not to smirk. Herondale peers over the rim of her glasses at Alec and says, “All right, Lightwood. Let’s follow your logic, such as it is. If you felt the attack violated Clave law, why did you warn the Downworld about it rather than reporting it to a higher authority in the Clave?”

“There wasn’t time to do that,” Alec says. “Morgenstern already had his troops assembled and ready to go.”

“That’s a specious argument, and I think you’re well aware of that,” Herondale says. “Even if the attack had gone through and children captured, they could have been released afterwards. In addition to that, you didn’t report the attempted attack afterwards to any Clave authority, which you surely would have done if you actually felt Morgenstern needed to be kept in check.”

“With all due respect to the Clave,” Alec says, looking her dead in the eyes, “I didn’t figure that any of you would give a shit.”

There’s another gasp, and another ripple of laughter.

Herondale’s mouth thins. “Are you done?”

“No,” Alec says. “Since you ask, I’m not. Because from your response, I know that I’m correct. You don’t plan to do anything about Morgenstern, and he’s going to continue to target innocent civilians, up to and including children. It’s disgusting. Warlocks are half-demons, it’s true. But they’re also half-human. The vast majority of them live their lives without hurting anybody – and you all know this, because the statistics prove it. If every warlock hurt people, we’d spend all our time chasing them down, and we don’t. So I want to ask the Clave why they allow these policies of targeted persecution.”

“The Clave doesn’t have to answer to you,” Herondale snaps. “You are the one on trial.”

“Yes, and the real question is why,” Alec says. “I protected innocent people. I didn’t harm a single Shadowhunter or assist a demon. So why am I on trial for treason?”

“This is bullshit,” Morgenstern snarls. “You know damned well why. We rely on information from those interrogations to capture demons – ”

“Then why do no records of the interrogations exist?”

“ – and so by helping them, you’ve helped the demons. It’s clear cut!”

Herondale is frowning, almost thoughtfully. She glances over at Morgenstern and says, “As much as I hate to dignify this, it’s a fair question, Morgenstern. Why are there no records of the interrogations?”

“There _are_ records,” Morgenstern sneers. “They’re just not available to scum like him.”

“Up until a week ago, I was the heir presumptive for that institute,” Alec says. “Everything in the Archive was available to me.”

“I don’t leave copies lying around at every Institute I visit,” Morgenstern says. “I keep all my data with me.”

Herondale’s eyes are still narrowed, and she seems suspicious of this claim, but then she turns back to Alec. “Lightwood, regardless of your personal feelings on the Downworld, nothing changes the fact that you passed along vital intelligence to an enemy operative.”

“I dispute that completely,” Alec says. “Magnus Bane is not an ‘enemy operative’. He is a warlock, yes, but he’s never harmed another person, let alone a Nephilim. He is just as good and decent a person as any Shadowhunter.”

“And how could you know this?” Herondale asks, her voice thick with sarcasm.

“Because he’s my soulmate.” Alec draws aside his shirt to show the mark. There’s another gasp, this one even more audible. Alec pays it no mind, continuing, “I’m a Shadowhunter, Inquisitor. I passed the Academy with top marks. I’ve killed demons and protected mundanes. And this man is my soulmate, my equal, my match in every way. So when I trusted him to evacuate the academy and make sure nobody was hurt, I was really just trusting myself. And I certainly wasn’t trusting an enemy.”

Herondale pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re aware that being the soulmate of a warlock is punishable by banishment, are you not?”

Alec shrugs. “So banish me.”

Morgenstern slaps a hand down on his desk. “Inquisitor, he cannot be banished. He has intelligence – knowledge of our people, of our tactics – that he would clearly show no compulsion about sharing with the warlocks!”

“That should be fine, though, right?” Alec says, looking at Morgenstern. “Since technically we’re not supposed to target them?”

Morgenstern is seething, but Herondale has had enough. “Lightwood, not only have you betrayed the Clave – in spirit if not in letter – you show no remorse about having done so, and would clearly do so again if given the opportunity. Therefore I have no choice but to sentence you to execution. The – ”

Magnus snaps his fingers. Magic ripples up from the floor in a blue wall, separating himself and Alec from the rest of the Clave. It flows from both his hands, and Alec can see that outside of their little enclosure, the audience is almost frozen, their movements slow as if they were moving through molasses. Even knowing how powerful Magnus is, he can’t help but gawk a little.

“Is this enough for you?” Magnus asks, and although his brow is furrowed in concentration, his voice is casual.

Alec nods. His voice is quiet, a little sad. “Yeah. I guess it’ll have to be.”

“Your sister?”

Alec looks through the crowd at where Izzy is frozen with the rest of them. “Can you get to her?”

“Certainly.” Magnus moves one hand in a half circle, and a tendril moves off their shielded area, dodging this person and that before pulling Izzy inside.

“Holy shit!” she sputters, looking around and trying to figure out exactly what had just happened.

“Did you still want to come with us?” Alec asks.

Regaining her bearings, Izzy nods and says, “Hell yes.”

The world ripples again as Magnus opens the portal. He takes both Izzy and Alec by a hand and pulls them through it, dropping his magical wall behind him. Just before the portal snaps shut, Alec hears a shout of fury from Morgenstern, but it’s cut off, making him feel like things were very unfinished.

 

~ ~ ~ ~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone, I had a bunch of real life stuff happen at once ... anyway, I hope you've enjoyed the fic! Come visit me on [my tumblr](http://gingersnapwolves.tumblr.com) if you want to keep track of what I'm up to! <3

“Wow, this place is amazing!” Izzy says as she takes in Magnus’ loft.

Magnus smiles, but says, “Don’t get too used to it, because I think it would be best if we move. This place is well hidden and well warded, but Morgenstern and his goons will be scouring every inch of the city for us. I think, unless you have an objection, that we’ll be heading to my second home.”

“Where is that?” Alec asks curiously.

“A little island in the South Pacific. You’ll love it, darling.” Magnus holds his hands at his sides and then magic gathers around them, pulling things from every direction in the loft apartment and condensing them into a little spinning globe. “Is there anything you want to bring besides your clothes and such?”

Alec shrugs. “You bought me most of this stuff, so I’ll let you decide.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Izzy says, jogging over from where she’s been admiring the view from the balcony. “Here, I brought this for you.”

She produces a stele from a holster she’s been wearing on her thigh and hands it over. Alec stares at it in surprise. “Is this mine? Where did you find it?”

“No, it’s not yours,” Izzy says. “Morgenstern probably got rid of that one. But I work at the Citadel, remember? Steles are one of the things we make there. I had a set I was actually finishing the detailing on that I brought with me, in case I had time to work while I was in New York. I brought it to the trial this morning because, you know, I figured or at least hoped you guys had something up your sleeve. I knew you had lost yours and figured you might want a new one.”

“Yeah, I.” Alec has to swallow before he can continue speaking, and he wraps his arms around Izzy, hugging her as hard as he can. “Thanks.”

A few minutes later, Magnus has finished gathering up what they need and has opened another portal. When they come out on the other side, the globe of possessions expands, and things zip around and pop into various places around the home. Alec looks around to see that it’s an open, airy beach house made almost entirely of wood. The windows are already open, letting in a warm breeze. Magnus pats down the robe he’s still wearing and shudders, transforming it into one of his usual outfits with another ripple of magic.

“Well!” he says, now that all that is done. “How about some company? I’m sure the others will be eager to hear about how things went.”

Alec isn’t exactly sure how he feels about that, but he understands that Magnus is just trying to prevent awkwardness. He doesn’t want Izzy to feel like a third wheel, intruding on his and Magnus’ relationship; nor does he want Magnus to feel like a third wheel, intruding on his and Izzy’s reunion. Some other people in the mix is probably a good idea.

Wherever they are in the world, it must be on the opposite side of the globe from New York, because the sun is just setting. Magnus builds a bonfire on the beach, and before long it’s a party. Ragnor and Catarina are there, and so is Jocelyn, with her soulmate Luke and her best friend Dorothea. Magnus gives them all a grand rendition of Alec telling off the Clave – literally, producing an illusory recording of Alec doing so – to much laughter and clapping. There’s plenty of good food and liquor, and Alec finds himself having fun despite himself.

Izzy ends up falling asleep just before dawn, because five years in the Citadel hasn’t given her much of a liquor tolerance. Magnus puts her to bed in one of the villa’s many bedrooms. The other warlocks depart in a wave of hugs and handshakes. While Magnus is preoccupied with that, Alec slips away. He walks down the beach, letting the waves tickle his feet, until he finally sits down in the sand to watch the sunrise.

A few minutes later, Magnus settles down next to him. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Are you sure they’re worth that much?” Alec asks.

Magnus bumps his shoulder against Alec’s and says, “For you, darling, I’d spend a whole dollar. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just . . . everything’s changed, but at the same time it feels like nothing has changed.” Alec hunches his shoulders inward, trying not to look as defensive as he feels. “I didn’t accomplish anything. I gave that grand speech to the Clave, but it won’t make any difference. I wanted to make a difference.”

Magnus reaches out and twines his hand through Alec’s. “Let me tell you a few things, darling, that the wisdom of age has imparted upon me. Number one . . . it’s not your responsibility to change the world. Your responsibility is only to yourself, and the ones you love, to live your best life. Yes, help others when you can, speak up against injustice when you see it, protect the weak. All of those are things you can do, and have done. But you can’t single-handedly save the world, and that’s a burden you can’t take upon your shoulders.”

Alec sighs a little. “I know you’re right, but . . .”

“Secondly,” Magnus continues, “change, real change, is slow. It’s incremental. Often we don’t notice it happening while it does. Did your speech to the Clave make a difference? We don’t know. We won’t know for years, possibly even decades, especially since we’re not privy to what will happen at the Institutes after this. Did you get through to any of the people in that gallery? I think you probably did. Will that matter? I don’t know. The important part is that you did it. You gave them all an opportunity to listen, to think about the way their society persecutes the innocent.

“That being said, you still have enormous opportunities to help the Downworld. Like Morgenstern was saying, you have knowledge of their tactics, their abilities, that could prove monumentally important to our people. Don’t count yourself out yet, just because one single gallery of people seemed unwilling to listen. To be honest, Alexander, even if the only thing that comes of this is the fact that you let me escape that first day, with a pair of those magic-stifling cuffs, that will save lives. By the time the Clave figures out why they’re not effective anymore, dozens if not hundreds of captured warlocks will have been able to escape. So don’t be so hard on yourself.”

After a moment, Alec manages a smile. “Yeah, you’re right. As usual.”

Magnus laughs and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “So what shall we do today, Alexander? We should try to stay up, so we can acclimate to the new time zone. There’s plenty to do. Bali alone will take a month to do properly – ”

Alec is still smiling, despite himself. “Honestly? Before all this stuff with the Clave happened, I was thinking that I just wanted to spend a day on the sofa with you, just talking about books and stuff the way we used to. I just want to sit on the beach, enjoy the sun, enjoy being here with you.”

“Well, that sounds very doable, my love.” Magnus conjures up a sofa with plump cushions, a small table with two frosted drinks, and a beach umbrella. Alec laughs quietly and climbs up onto the sofa, resting his back against one end so Magnus can sit in his lap and lean against his chest, which he promptly does. Alec wraps an arm around his waist, pressing his cheek against Magnus’ hair, and closes his eyes. He’s still worried about tomorrow, but for now, tomorrow can wait.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

Three days later, they’re having dinner in Denpasar when Meliorn walks up to their table, pulls out a chair, and sits down. “Apparently the Clave now thinks I’m a message boy,” he says to Magnus, and it looks like he’s gearing up to complain when he catches sight of Izzy. “Magnus Bane. How is it that you’re acquainted with a woman of such exquisite beauty and you have never introduced me?”

Izzy blushes and extends a hand, saying, “Isabelle Lightwood. Pleasure to meet you.”

“It is indeed.” Meliorn takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “I am Meliorn, knight of the seelie court.”

“You have a message for us?” Magnus says, amused.

“Ah, yes.” Meliorn sighs and produces an envelope from the interior of his jacket, handing it over to Alec. His gaze never leaves Izzy, and he shows no interest in what the message is. “Do you have plans for the evening, Isabelle? It would be my honor to give you a tour of the city.”

“I would love to,” Izzy says.

Magnus is watching Alec as he opens the envelope. “Who is it from?” he asks, looking a little wary, like he knows that there’s at least an eighty percent chance that the contents are going to ruin their evening.

Alec doesn’t recognize the handwriting, so he looks down at the signature, and sucks in a breath. “It – It’s from Aline.”

“Oh?” Now Magnus just looks interested. “What does it say?”

Alec decides to read it to himself first, to see if it’s terrible, before reading it aloud. He feels tears prickling at his eyes by the second sentence, but once he’s read the whole thing, he manages to clear his throat and read it aloud. “Dear Alec. I understand you so much better now than I did a few weeks ago. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you, growing up with that name on your chest. I have a lot of questions, although to be frank the answers are really none of my business. I assume that you had met Magnus and were in a relationship with him by the time we met, and the look on your face when you were talking about him at your ‘trial’ reminds me so much of how I feel about Helen. I can tell that you truly love him.

I’ve thought a lot about what you said to the Inquisitor. I’m sure my parents would be horrified, but it’s made me reconsider many things that I’ve always believed without question. I know you, Alec, and I know you are a decent, honorable man. What you said about how Magnus is your equal, how you knew him to be a good person because of your mark, makes sense to me.

Maybe Magnus is the exception, rather than the rule. Even so, if even one Downworlder is capable of being the equal to a Shadowhunter, then our position on them is deeply flawed. I’ve been talking with Helen about it a lot. I doubt anyone told you this when you got back, but after your ‘disappearance’, my parents attempted to force me to marry Jonathan Morgenstern, and I decided I’d had enough and went public about my relationship with her. So I’m persona non grata at the moment in a lot of circles. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help you, whether or not I’ll be able to advance your goals with the Clave given my own current status, but I want to try.

If you’ll agree to meet with me, I would love to sit down and discuss it with you. Helen wants to come, as well as a few people I know who were quietly talking about what you said at your trial the other day. If you’re able, send a reply with the seelie courier, and we can set something up.

I will always appreciate what you did for me, how you helped me with my parents. I will keep you in my thoughts and truly hope you are doing well. Sincerely, Aline Penhallow.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Meliorn says, “Seelie courier? Really?”

“Sorry,” Alec says. “I mean, not that it’s really my fault. But, uh, Nephilim tend to be a presumptuous bunch, don’t we.”

Magnus gives a quiet snort. “That is accurate.”

“You’ll owe me a favor,” Meliorn says.

Izzy interrupts. “What if I request you carry the message, instead of Alec? I’m sure we could come to some sort of . . . mutually agreeable arrangement.”

Meliorn’s face creases into a smile. “I’m sure we could.”

Alec groans. “Come on, Izzy. I’m sitting right here.”

“Alec, I have been in the Citadel for _five years_ , imagining the day I would meet a gorgeous man who wants to give me a tour of a romantic city. Keep your opinions to yourself.”

Magnus has to hide his laughter in his napkin. He manages to compose himself well enough to ask Alec, “Do you want to go?”

“I do, but . . .” Alec can’t help but frown. “What if it’s a trap?”

Magnus shrugs. “I took on the entire Clave for you, darling. I’m fairly sure I can keep you safe from any sort of trap they want to set up now, especially since we’ll be able to set the terms of the meeting.”

“That’s true, I guess.” Alec fiddles with the envelope, then nods. “Yeah. I would like to.”

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

It takes several days to iron out the terms of the meeting, and Magnus selects an uninhabited island not far from the one they’ve been living on. There are plenty of them around, he tells Alec, and this guarantees privacy and security. He opens the portal and has Meliorn guide the attending Nephilim to the open end in New York City. Meliorn does so without a word of complaint, which has Alec side-eyeing Izzy hard. She just tosses her hair with a smile and says nothing.

“This is all very clandestine,” a voice says as a blonde emerges from the portal and Alec nearly falls on his ass because there is absolutely no way that Jace fucking Herondale is attending his TED talk on why it’s advantageous not to persecute Downworlders.

Before he can react to that, Aline emerges from the portal, hand-in-hand with Helen. “Alec, I’m so glad you’re all right!” she says, greeting him with an embrace. “You haven’t met Helen, I don’t think.”

Helen smiles and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, uh, likewise,” Alec says, still off guard. He has to take a breath to steady himself, before gesturing to Magnus and saying, “This is Magnus.”

“It’s a genuine pleasure,” Magnus says, with his usual charming smile.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us,” Aline says, as both women shake Magnus’ hand. There’s a brief round of introductions, as about a dozen other Shadowhunters, most of them around the same age but a few older, have come with them. Magnus conjures up some comfortable chairs and some drinks. “I have to admit that I’m so curious about how the two of you met.”

Magnus glances at Alec and says, “I think you’d tell the story better. My end isn’t anywhere near as relevant.”

Alec nods a little, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “It, uh, it might take a while . . .”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Helen says, gesturing to the ocean and jungle bordering them and the complete lack of any way off the island until Magnus opens another portal.

“I guess that’s true,” Alec says, laughing a little and loosening up.

He starts at the beginning, with finding the name on his chest and his mother’s reaction. He tells them everything, about his struggles at the Academy, his first few missions and the nagging doubt he felt about what the mark meant about warlocks in general. He tells them about meeting Magnus and gradually getting to know him, how patient and kind Magnus had been, and his eventual decision to warn the warlocks about the attack on their Academy.

He explains what Morgenstern had done and why, and tells them about meeting Jocelyn and the other warlocks, getting to know them over the course of the last few weeks, and his decision to go back to the Institute so he could see Izzy and make sure that she was all right. When he finally stops talking, Aline says, “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Alec agrees.

“So there are really no records of the interrogations?” Helen asks.

“Not that I could find,” Alec says. “Though I guess we do know that they sometimes lead to actionable intelligence. Given that that’s how Morgenstern knew that I had tipped the warlocks off.”

This starts a spirited discussion of how to balance getting information against hurting innocent people. It goes on for several minutes before Magnus clears his throat and says, “You know, you could try just asking.”

Silence follows this. The Nephilim stare at him. Meliorn gives a snort of laughter.

“Just . . . asking?” Jace finally says. “Like, knock on the door of a warlock and say . . .”

“Say, ‘we’re looking for this demon who killed a person in Flatbush last night, do you know anything about that’,” Magnus replies.

“And you would just tell us?” Aline asks.

Alec pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, if the alternative is us torturing them . . .”

Magnus reaches out and nudges him gently with an elbow. “Right now the relationship between our two worlds is contentious enough that my suggestion probably isn’t feasible. But I think it is possible in the long-term. Demons threaten us, too. We have no loyalty to them – the majority of us have no relationship with our fathers, or if we do, it’s an unhappy one. If we can build bridges between our two worlds, then yes, in the long run, I think it’s possible that we would share information without needing to be captured and tortured first. Which, while I’m on the subject, you should stop doing immediately.”

Meliorn gives another snort, and Alec gives Magnus a sideways glance, amused despite himself. “Yeah, I think they got that from my lecture.”

“It bears repeating.”

“The problem – well, part of the problem – is that we have no real influence,” Helen says. “Even if we agreed with you about everything – and to be honest I still have some reservations – we can’t implement any real change as long as people like Morgenstern are still in power.”

Magnus nods. “I know. And I was telling Alec last week that patience is crucial. Change is slow. This meeting is a good first step, but that’s all it is – a single step in what will be a marathon. But I think change is possible, and I think it will benefit all of us in the long run. I think it will create a better world.”

They talk for a little while longer about people they can talk to, who might be more receptive to the idea of change, how they might get the Academies to introduce these ideas to the children before they’ve been fully convinced otherwise. “I mean, you can never tell who might or might not agree,” Aline says. “A lot of people are probably afraid to rock the boat.”

“I certainly agree on the first score,” Alec says, glancing at Jace. “I never would have guessed that you would be here. I mean. You’re the best Shadowhunter we’ve seen in centuries.”

“Well, yeah,” Jace says, accepting this praise with ease that makes Magnus roll his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t listen to someone making a good argument. And, you know, it’s you. Alec fucking Lightwood. Do you have any idea how often my dad told me that you were kicking my ass at the Academy?”

Alec nearly chokes on his own saliva. “He said what?”

“Dude, you’re a legend at the New York Academy! You have the highest marks in almost two hundred years in both academics and combat. Every time I got less than a perfect score, my dad was all like, ‘I guess you’ll never be better than Lightwood, just like I said’.”

“Your dad sounds like a dick,” Izzy says, in a cheerful, forthright tone.

Jace snorts. “Yeah, he absolutely is, but my point stands.”

“My mom used to say the same thing about you,” Alec says, still trying not to stare at Jace. “About how you were going to make everyone so proud, and how I would never measure up.”

Magnus reaches out and squeezes Alec’s forearm. “So apparently the first thing the Clave needs is parenting lessons.”

Several people laugh at that, although Alec is pretty sure that Magnus didn’t really mean it as a joke. Aline goes back to trying to decide how to connect with other people and spread their ideas. They talk for almost an hour before they’ve made some decisions and a plan to keep in touch with Alec while he’s in Indonesia, without having to call Meliorn to pass messages along.

Once everyone is gone – including Izzy, who’s left with Meliorn – Magnus takes Alec’s hand and says, “How do you think it went?”

“Better than I could have imagined,” Alec says. “You were right, about change being slow. It’s . . . okay, I think.” He lets out a breath. “Yeah, I think it’s okay.”

Magnus smiles at him, and leans in to press a kiss against Alec’s temple. “You are better than okay, darling. You are absolutely amazing.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Alec says. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“That doesn’t make you any less amazing.” Magnus reaches up and traces Alec’s lips with his fingers. “Nobody changes the world alone. Of course we’re going to accomplish more together than we could have separately. It’s not a bad thing. Just the way the world works. And you’re my soulmate. Every step we take, we take together.” With the same serene confidence that had attracted Alec to him at the beginning, he says, “We’re going to make a difference, Alexander.”

After a moment, Alec smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Alec says, because honestly, he can’t think of a single reason not to believe him.

 

~fin~


End file.
